


The Bound - A Tale Of Tamriel

by Jan_Karlsson



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Elder Scrolls Lore, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 107,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24089080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jan_Karlsson/pseuds/Jan_Karlsson
Summary: As the Three Banners War rages on, four ordinary people from throughout Tamriel must put aside their differences to save a single life. Bound together, they must seek out clues in the deepest corners of the world to accomplish their task. Dark and terrible forces stand in their way with agendas of their own.Can The Bound find a way to work together as time runs out, or will their differences cost the life of an innocent? Or even their own?(Crossposted here, Wattpad and FanFictionDotNet)
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

1

i. Elsewhere.

“From the frigid North comes the Brawler.  
A babe of one race, child of another, but member of none.  
Their strength will rival your own.

Where the fire burns the sky comes the Footpad.  
Born from nobility, brought low by choice.  
Their cunning will see through your tricks.

The arid reaches of sand will bring forth the Pilgrim.  
Once the trusted soldier now without king or war.  
Their strategies will confound you.

Pastoral paradise is home for the Sage.  
Knowledge is their motivation and aspiration.  
Their intelligence will match yours.”

The ethereal voice was diminishing even as the body, from which it emanated, became more wizened and desiccated. Still, the questioner was not satisfied, letting a haughty sniff erupt from their nose.

“When can I expect these interlopers?” Said with the regal attitude that only the Altmer can exude, even with a construct that had no concept of self or station.

“This one cannot see. Cannot see.” The body was mere ash in bodily form, now, and as it began to dissipate into nothing-ness, it’s final words whispered away, “They come. They come.”

The ash that was once a body floated away on a breeze that did not exist, could not exist, in this sanctum.

The Altmer stared one last time at the place where the body had been, turned on their heel and strode from the chamber

ii. Öenthir.

It was the way of the Mages Guild to send their lowliest students out into the wilds of Tamriel to search for and recover books of old. Even copies of The Lusty Argonian Maid were carefully retrieved, catalogued and shelved in the Infinite Library deep in the bowels of the various Guild halls throughout the continent.

Öenthir was one such lowly student. Talented, for certain, but with a tendency to dream higher than her current skills, and station, would imply. She believed, wholeheartedly, that she had a destiny for something greater. Scryers and soothsayers of the Guild would dispute that, as wholeheartedly. She would, one day, be a relatively powerful mage, but otherwise unremarkable. Such was the destiny that had been set out before her.

Until that time, her position, as it was for any student, regardless of the loftiness of their destiny, was to retrieve books.

It was with a deep sense of boredom that Öenthir placed the book she had been tasked to find deep into her cumbersome satchel and with an deep, equal sense of impatience that she would wile away the time until the Guild’s Librarian opened up the portal to return her to Auridon. To Vulkhel Guard and the Guild Hall.

In the meantime, she wandered through this backwater city at the arse end of the world dreaming once again of her future career as Guild Master and, one day, Arch Mage. She truly believed it. She felt it deep within her bones, no matter what any of the others told her.

The mood around the city was a tenuous, hopeful one. The Three Banners War had lulled, somewhat, over the past few weeks with each faction held in an uneasy position of stagnation, and here, in the area of Skyrim known as The Rift, the city of Riften was tempting fate by breathing a collective sigh of relief. Of course, Riften was a Nord city and Nords were not averse to fighting. ‘Relish’ would be a suitable word to describe how Nord’s felt about fighting, but even Nords can tire of it. Eventually.

Öenthir sauntered into the Shadehome Inn, the little more reputable tavern, having developed a minor thirst. It was, as she expected, a bit of a dive. Drunken Nords throwing mead down their throats as if their lives depended on it. Men and women alike. It was loud, dirty and cloying, but it was also probably the best, cleanest place to get a drink of any kind.

The innkeeper crumpled his forehead when Öenthir asked for a wine and once again when she changed her mind and asked for a tea.

“We have mead.” He growled and Öenthir took the offered mug of tepid slop that locals seemed to love more than breathing, with grudging acceptance.

There were few tables not occupied or broken and she hesitated to sit with any of the locals. They liked to talk, did the Nords, and their talk was often far too loud, bawdy and fixated on their fighting prowess. Öenthir did not believe she would find those conversations in the slightest bit interesting.

She considered joining the Redguard woman sitting at the corner table near the window, but one scowl from those intense dark eyes and a glimpse of the strange weapons held close at hand buried that idea.

Finally finding a table that hardly had any mead spilled upon it, she sat down, smoothing her skirts, and tried to calm her mind, detaching herself from her surroundings and prepared herself to wait for the portal home.

iii. Itagaki.

It was too cold. Even with the blazing fire in the large hearth and the crush of Nord bodies, drinking, shouting and otherwise carousing, it was still too cold. Why people made their homes in this Divines forsaken corner of Tamriel, she had no idea.

Itagaki wished she was still at home in the welcoming heat of the Alik’r, but she had made a pact with herself to make this pilgrimage and she’d be damned if she turned back now.

She had made the pact in the heat of grief and the burning fire of her dishonour. Yes, her remaining comrades and fellow vassals had tried to tell her that she had not been at fault, and, to a degree, she understood and agreed with them, but still she felt it. It had been her duty to protect her liege lord and her people and she had failed. Not only failed, but had survived.

She still felt the pain in her gut, sometimes, where the victorious leader of the enemy had cut so deep. Especially when it was cold and it was always cold, here in Skyrim. The healers, what few that survived, had performed a miracle in saving her life, but for what? To be a warrior without a war? A vassal without a lord? A daughter without a family?

Yes, she had survived. By the grace of the Divines. But, she needed to understand why she, of all that had been on that battlefield, had lived. Thus she had formed the pact and begun her pilgrimage. To understand. To visit the sacred places throughout Tamriel. To seek out the truth of her survival from the wisest of the wise and from their patrons, the Divines themselves in all their forms and incarnations. If they would deign to enlighten her.

Glenumbra and the other realms of High Rock gave no respite and now it was the turn of Skyrim and then Morrowind and then ... wherever could provide insight.

The little Bosmer elf mage, whose hesitation so visible at sitting near Itagaki, had settled herself down a table away. She looked out of place. More out of place than even Itagaki herself! She was a wood elf, but she held herself, and had that haughty air, of an Altmer. There was a story there, for sure, but not one that Itagaki cared to pursue.

The drink that these Nords laughably called alcohol had disappeared down her gullet and had made no impression on her chill, or her mood. Perhaps another would bring a modicum of warmth? Regardless, it wasn’t a patch on the rum her people would brew. Dark, thick, warming in the chill of the desert night, cooling in the thick warmth of the day. How she wished she had brought some with her!

She rose and made her way to the bar, avoiding the jostling on the way. A Dunmer. Skin as dark as the darkest rum Itagaki had been thinking about and as beautiful a dark elf woman as she had ever seen. The elf was probably one of the best pick-pockets she had ever encountered, too, and it was only due to Itagaki’s innate distrust and razor-sharp warrior’s instincts that she had avoided losing all her coin.

The dark elf caught Itagaki’s eye and gave the cheekiest of winks, long white hair contrasting with her dark complexion and dark eyes. She knew she had been made and she didn’t appear to care.

For the first time in a long time, Itagaki almost smiled. She held it back, though. A beautiful, cheeky thief was still a thief and didn’t need any encouragement. Besides, she needed more of this muck the Nords loved so much.

“Same again?” The innkeeper seemed surprised, “You drink like a Nord! I tell you what, if you’re still standing after this one, the next one will be on the house.”

Itagaki looked around to see if she could see the cheeky thief, but she had disappeared in the crush of the crowd.

iv. Tilly.

That had been close! The pretty Redguard was quick!

Tilly made a mental note to be more careful about the marks she was going to take advantage of. Perhaps she had become a little bit lazy after preying upon Nords for so long. When work becomes too easy, it can lead to mistakes and in this game mistakes can land you in gaol, or worse.

Of course, if the real work hadn’t dried up, she wouldn’t have had to resort to pick-pocketing. A skill she had perfected at an early age, but had neglected for some time now. This lull in fighting had had an unexpected knock-on effect and Tilly had become one of the casualties of the uneasy peace. Picking pockets was a quick and easy way to keep herself in the manner to which she had become accustomed.

She considered and rejected the stuffy looking Bosmer. It was clear she was a mage and, after a particularly nasty encounter a few years previously, she had learned never to anger mages. But there were plenty of drunken Nords around to relieve of their coin and valuables.

Lifting a purse from one Nord, Tilly’s mind floated back to the pretty Redguard. That had been too close. If she had been caught, she would have had to have killed her. Redguards were notable for not taking thieves kindly and for the many and varied punishments they would inflict upon those caught. It would also have been a pity. Someone that pretty didn’t deserve to die at the end of a poisoned knife.

Tilly remembered what life had been like back home. The life of a thief was easier in Morrowind. Simpler. Oh, punishments were almost as severe as the Redguard ones, but the guards were more easily bribed. Punishments more easily avoided. That was, of course, before she had accepted the call to her real business, where the real fun had begun. It had been hard as a thief, back home, but it could have been much worse. If she hadn’t run away at such an early age, who knows what she would have become. Who she would have been. Tilly didn’t like to speculate. She was glad she had escaped from that horror when she had.

A mug of mead found its way into her hand as she circled the inn, was quickly emptied and as quickly left on a table. One more coin purse should be enough for a room for the night and passage to healthier pickings. Whiterun or, possibly, Solitude would be good. Lots of rich merchants and fat coin purses to be had there and guards more interested in the shininess of their armour than on the actions of a single Dunmer thief. It seemed like the most brilliant of ideas.

And, there it was! A coin purse so full, so bulging and an owner so drunk that it was almost crying out to be plucked and given its freedom. Freedom to be placed in her own pockets.

Tilly sidled closer. Neither appearing to be heading that way or to be randomly circling. Natural movement. Natural hand raising. Naturally moving closer to the coin purse that naturally belonged in her hands.

And it was a natural hand resting heavily upon her shoulder that stopped her, mid cut.

“Be good, little elf.” A thick Nord accent whispered in her ear and she tensed for the fight that was about to erupt.

v. Revna.

The raucous and often bawdy singing, loud, aggressive conversations and the sounds of people drinking quickly and heavily were like honey to her ears. The mead was strong and tasted like glory in a mug to her palate. It was a little too warm for her liking, this far in the south of Skyrim, but it felt homely and familiar. It stirred feelings of fervency. Pride swelling in her chest. These were Nords! These were her people! She itched to join in. To sing along. To clash flagons of mead together and to add her voice to the cacophony. She wanted to crush her body against these fine Nord men, but that would not do.

It wasn’t to be, however. Although she had been raised by Nords, filled with Nord tales, taught Nord fighting techniques and had Nord values instilled in her, she had not been born a Nord.

She felt her tail flick in irritation. Nords were well known for having no love of those who were not Nord and a Khajiit ‘pretending’ to be a Nord was contemptible, if not outright heretical, to them. It didn’t matter that she knew nothing of being Khajiit, meant nothing that she had only ever known Nord life and culture, nothing that her mothers had told her she was a true daughter of Skyrim in her heart. Nothing. She didn’t belong and it was unlikely she would feel at home with Khajiit either, with their strange way of speaking and even stranger customs.

She tried not to think of home. The loss was too painful. Yet, even there she remembered the uneasy looks, the quiet whispered insults. When she came of age and joined the trials and games, defeating everyone who stood before her, they said being Khajiit was unfair to her opponents. Where was their Nord pride then? But she still missed home and she still felt great fondness for the village and the people, now gone.

With an absent mind, Revna laid her hand upon the greatsword, Jotnbann, beside her. It had once been her shield-mother’s and her mother’s before that. Her hearth-mother had told Revna it was hers now, to pass on to her daughter someday, but Revna didn’t feel that she deserved it. Many an eye had appraised the sword and its quality even as they were drinking. It was a fine sword. An old sword.

Revna sighed and patted the sword with affection. She was about to reach for her mug of mead when she saw the dark elf take it from the table. She watched, amused, as the Dunmer drank the contents in one gulp (impressive) and then place it down at another table. There was a swagger to the girl, an easy strut that Revna found herself envious of.

Here was a girl, a dark elf girl, amongst a throng of Nords and she did not care one jot that she was out of place. Didn’t care in the slightest that she didn’t belong. Yet, Revna had lived among Nords all her life and never felt half as confident in herself. Revna cared too much.

As Revna watched the dark elf circle the room, she understood what the elf was. A sneak thief. A cutpurse. She was about to take that man’s purse and, Revna knew, that if she was found, the entire inn would fall upon her like ravenous wolves. Grabbing the greatsword, Revna launched across the room and grabbed the elf’s shoulder.

“Be good, little elf.” As the words exited Revna’s mouth, she realised she was too late. The man had already noticed that his purse was hanging by a thread and the dark elf that had been in the act of taking it. With a roar, he reared to his full height. “You might want to step back, little elf, this could get messy.”

Then Revna punched the man square in the face and all Oblivion broke loose.


	2. Chapter 2

2

i. Jarl Borgun

Flames flicked and danced in the large fire-pit in the centre of the longhouse, projecting ever changing shadows on the surrounding walls. The Jarl, sat upon his great chair on a raised dais at the far end of the hall, simply watched them. He sat back in his seat, one hand smoothing his beard, absent minded. His daughter, Ysrey, playing with one of the shaggy hunt hounds to the side. Happy in her own little world far removed, in mind if not in body, from the complications of the life of a Jarl’s daughter.

Borgun tried to smile, but it felt heavy and faint at the same time. His daughter was the only thing that had any chance of bringing a smile to his face in these dark days, but the Jarl’s mind was filled with other matters. Other concerns.

“I have the report, my lord.” The Jarl had not even noticed the entrance of his steward, William of Anvil, so deep in thought had he been.

Many had looked askance when the Jarl had taken an Imperial for his steward. What was wrong with a good Nord, they had asked. What hold did this diaspora of Cyrodiil have upon a man of stout Nord stock? But William had proven to be a fine choice for steward. Often, especially of late, keeping the hold ticking over, even when the Jarl’s mind was on other things. The man knew his job, did it well and never, ever overstepped his boundaries. Even if he did bend those boundaries every now and then (and only ever for the good of the Jarl and the Rift).

“Very well, William.” The Jarl didn’t have to sigh, but the implication was there. This had been the third brawl this week. The populace were impatient for hostilities to restart in the war.

“Seventeen were detained, two of whom are in the care of the healers, the rest are in the cells.” William shuffled through the papers in his hands, “Angjolf, Breyda the Red, Hielda ...”

“Hielda?” The Jarl interrupted, “She didn’t kill anyone this time?”

“No, my lord. Although she did break Ysdra’s nose. Again.” William sniffed and continued under his breath, “Why they don’t just get married, I don’t know.”

“Small mercies, I suppose. Go on.” Borgun sat back again.

“Arnjold the innkeep says if this happens again, he’ll double the prices in the inn.” William glanced up from his papers to watch the Jarl’s reaction to that statement.

“Double? Shor’s Bones! Does the man want to start a riot?” The Jarl tugged at his beard in irritation then slammed the arm of his seat with his fist. “He can raise them five percent and no more. And if he demands more, tell him he can demand it to my face at the end of my sword!”

“I’m sure he’ll find my lord’s decision quite generous.” William stifled a smile knowing full well that Arnjold’s demand was a gambit to be able to make a small raise in prices anyway. After all, even though the inn’s patrons that had been involved in the fighting had helped with repairs (after previous brawls), he had still been incurring rising costs. This raise was only fair.

“Anything else?” The Jarl was still bristling after hearing of Arnjold’s ‘demands’, “Or can I finally rest for the night?”

“There were some outsiders involved in the brawl, my lord,” Again, William flitted through his notes, “A Bosmer mage, a Redguard, a Dunmer, possibly a thief, and a Khajiit that swears she’s from Ingrstad.

“Impossible!” The Jarl growled, his mood darkening. The fate of the village of Ingrstad weighed heavy upon all the peoples of Skyrim. “There was only one survivor from Ingrstad and she ... she. It can’t be!”

Many tales had sprung up about the fate of Ingrstad. Rumours had spread. Truth had become twisted and broken. Claims, by disreputable people, had been made. Few people, if any, knew the truth about what happened at Ingrstad. All that had been certain, until now, was that the village had been wiped from the face of Nirn and that the perpetrators, themselves, had been found massacred not far from where they had done the massacring of Ingrstad.

“Nevertheless, the Khajiit claims to be from Ingrstad.” William waited for the Jarl to collect his thoughts.

“Four outsiders, you say.” Borgun mumbled to himself, deep in thought, “Four. Just like the seer had said. And one, the survivor of Ingrstad.”

“Your orders, my lord?”

“Bring the outsiders to me. Release the rest, they’ll pay soon enough when Arnjold has done with them.” The Jarl looked across to his daughter once more. Finally he could make things right. “And get Hielda and Ysdra to the temple of Mara. Let them fight in the marriage bed and not the tavern from now on.”

ii. Itagaki.

The cells had quietened a great deal after the majority of detainees had been released, leaving only Itagaki, herself, and the only other three non-Nords. The atmosphere had been little different than it had been in the inn. The Nords taking the incarceration in their stride, still singing and shouting and swapping tales of the glorious bar-fight they had just engaged in. It had been fun, for them.

For her measure, Itagaki had found herself involved when one Nord had been thrown into her lap. The Nord had taken a swing at her and immediately regretted it. He was one of those that was now in the care of the healers. As luck would have it, it had been that moment when the city guard had arrived and she had been arrested with the others.

Now, she knelt in the corner of the cell. It was not that she was dishonoured to have been arrested, she had little honour left to lose, as far as she was concerned. That she had allowed herself to become involved at all showed Itagaki how far she had fallen and how much penance she had yet to serve. If the Divines would grace her with forgiveness, that is.

The others were of interest to her and she observed them as unobtrusively as she could muster.

The Bosmer mage standing impatient at the bars of the cell. A frown on her young, petite face as she attempted to catch the attention of the guards, but getting no response. It was obvious she was unused to being in any situation even remotely like this. It was obvious, also, that the wood elf had pretensions of being a high elf. A situation that would surely dawn on her in time.

The Dunmer thief, casually strolled around the cell with one of those infuriating “I know something you don’t know” looks on her ridiculously beautiful face. She had the air of nonchalance, but Itagaki felt that she was like a caged cat, waiting for the door to open, just a slight, to make her escape.

The Khajiit was another thing entirely. Itagaki had seen other Khajiit in her travels. Some that were impossibly tall, others that were, for all practical purposes, cats that could talk, others that could pass as human or mer, if not for the tail. This one seemed different. Almost as tall as the Nords, heavily built with great muscles rippling beneath her deep, black fur and a quiet, tamed fury that Itagaki believed few could see until it was too late. There were scars, hidden by that silky fur, too. Many scars. Barely noticeable unless you were paying attention, as Itagaki was. She was one to step careful around and, during the brawl, more than a few had found out to their pain.

The guards had also made note of the Khajiit. Itagaki had heard their whispers. Seen their looks. She had heard the almost revered mention of a village called Ingrstad that no longer existed and of the events that followed. Hearsay and conjecture, but still, they said little to the Khajiit’s face.

It was clear, the Khajiit could make a great ally, or a terrible enemy and Itagaki had no intention of making her an enemy if she could at all help it.

iii. Öenthir.

Panic, irritation, anger, fear. All of these emotions and more rose and fell within Öenthir the longer her captivity went on. She steadfastly ignored everyone else in the cell. The dark elf scared her and she didn’t quite know why. The Redguard scared her with the intensity in those dark eyes of hers. Always watching. Missing nothing. Saying nothing. It was unnerving. And the Khajiit. She scared Öenthir with her sheer size and the barely controlled rage that could be felt emanating from her.

Apart from being scared of her cell mates, they were clearly not the kind of people that Öenthir would ever, usually, consort with. Not her kind of people at all. Uncultured. Brutish. Lower class. The kind of people that she would avoid as readily as one would avoid a den of skeevers.

“Hello!” She called, once again, to the guard outside the cell, “Look, there has clearly been some mistake. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be meeting someone important. I’m innocent!”

“Aren’t we all, darling.” The dark elf said in passing as she circled the cell for the millionth time. Or so Öenthir thought.

Öenthir turned her nose up and her head away. She wasn’t about to engage such a person in conversation. Not here or anywhere else. Maybe the Dunmer, the Redguard and the Khajiit were the kind that would find excitement in tavern brawls, but she was better than that. She was a mage! Or was going to be, if this incident didn’t get her expelled.

Another guard entered the cell block and whispered something to the cell guard. Nodding, the cell guard turned to the cell and reached for his keys. When he didn’t find them, he made a quick, panicked search of his clothing.

“Oh!” Said the dark elf. Mock innocence oozing from her voice, “I think you dropped these.”

With her mouth open in a comical ‘O’, Öenthir watched as the guard snatched the proffered keys from the hand of the Dunmer and began unlocking the cell door. He didn’t even acknowledge the dark elf. As if it hadn’t happened, whether through embarrassment or amusement, or both.

“You have a visitor.” The guard mumbled to Öenthir, ushering her out of the cell and pointing her towards the other guard, before locking the cell door once more.

“Can I have a visitor, too?” The dark elf leant against the cell bars, “They always make me feel safe and warm and so very dearly wanted.”

Öenthir didn’t hear anymore as the second guard had begun frogmarching her out of the cell block. Walking past several other doors, around twisting corridors until they reached another door at the end, through which she found herself pushed, none too gently.

The first thing she saw was the ghostly projection before her, sent all the way from Auridon and the Guild Hall.

A tall, kindly looking Breton, of indeterminate age, the projection shimmered and folded, flowed and warped. It was a simple enough spell for such a venerable mage. As Öenthir entered, the projection turned and gave a fatherly smile.

“Loremaster Dukhat!” Exclaimed Öenthir, the weight of the last few hours swept away like a wave of relief. She almost collapsed to her knees in thanks. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you!”

“Now, now, dear child.” The Loremaster chuckled, looking down his beaked nose at the little Bosmer. “You do seem to have gotten yourself in to a bit of a pickle, hmm?”

“It’s a mistake, Sir. All of it!” Unshackled from crippling fear, she began talking rapidly. “I needed refreshment, so I went to an inn and they didn’t have wine or even tea, and there was a scary Redguard, and then the fight started and I couldn’t get out and then I was arrested and, and ...”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard all about what occurred, little one.” The Loremaster’s eyes burned through the projection, “But, you didn’t do anything? Anything at all?”

“Well,” She furrowed her brow, trying to recall everything that had happened, “There was so much happening. People fighting everywhere. Drinks being thrown. Blood, sir, a lot of blood and ... and I did cast a little protection spell. Just a little one so my dress wouldn’t get spoiled.”

“And there we find your unfortunate mistake!” The Loremaster lifted a pointed finger, “Unlicensed magick in public places is banned within Riften. Nords detest magick! They consider it to be dishonourable, mostly evil and cheating. If you can’t fight with your hands or a good blade, they find it contemptuous. Did you not do your research, child?”

“Well, I, of course,” Öenthir lowered her eyes and her face, embarrassed. Humiliated. “I just didn’t think, at the time. It was such a small spell and didn’t hurt anybody.”

The Loremaster, towering over her, couldn’t offer any sympathy. At least, not in the form of a projection. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, studying the little Bosmer. The silence continued. An uncomfortable silence in which Öenthir had a million scenarios running through her mind. Most of which ended with her expulsion from the Guild. Or worse.

“So,” The sudden restart of the conversation caused Öenthir’s eyes to dart back up to the Loremaster, “Perform whatever silly little penance the Nords sentence you to and send a message when you’re ready to get back to work.”

“I’m ... I’m not expelled?” Öenthir didn’t know whether to be relieved, confused or in fear of this ‘penance’.

“For getting involved in a bar fight?” The Loremaster’s laughter echoed around the room, causing the projection to ripple even more. Dukhat laughed for quite a while, eventually subsiding and wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. Then he looked down at Öenthir and smiled that old, kind smile, “My dear, when you’ve been involved in as many bar fights as I have, especially in my youth, you would realise they’re probably the most exciting parts of being a book researching student!”

Öenthir laughed, nervous, unsure whether he was playing games with her or being truthful. She could never imagine the stately old Breton getting involved in a single brawl, let alone many bar fights. But, why would he lie to make her feel better? She always found it strange that a Breton, of all things, was her favourite teacher. Stranger still that the man was held in such high esteem in overwhelmingly Altmer Guild hall in Auridon, but he was kind and friendly and rarely ever showed anger, regardless of what the students did.

“Do you have any idea what my penance may be, Loremaster?” Öenthir had been so filled with fear of expulsion, she had almost forgotten about paying a price for her tiny, magickal, misstep.

“Oh, probably nothing, really.” The Loremaster’s voice was starting to fade, and the projection along with it, as he began to dispel the incantation. “They’re as likely to have you translating a book or two, as have you despatch an unruly giant. But, it’s probably just the books. Probably.”

“A giant?” Öenthir asked, but it was a question aimed at thin air as the projection finally disappeared.

iv. Tilly.

After the Bosmer had been removed for her visitor, the mood in the cell had become even more leaden. The pretty Redguard continued to kneel, a stoic, staring ahead. Saying nothing. The Khajiit, damn her black furred hide, lounged on the bench-come-sleeping-cot. Also saying nothing. It felt like a tomb and Tilly despised silence.

The number of times, back home, that silence had almost driven her mad. Especially when it was time to make devotions to The Three. Respectful silence. Penitent silence. Dreadful, awful, boring silence. One of the many, many reasons she had hitched up her skirts and ran away. Ran away fast. Away from everything and everyone to remake herself and leave that life behind forever.

“The way you took the guard’s keys.” Tilly was shocked out of her reverie as the Redguard spoke. Actual words! “It was impressive. You are quite the talented thief.”

Tilly didn’t let the shock hold for long. She returned to her normal swagger. She stepped over to the Redguard, leaned against the wall beside her and crossed her arms, a sly smile upon her face.

“Oh, I have many, varied talents.” She dipped her head and spoke conspiratorially, “Many. Talents.”

There! It was brief. The very barest of smiles, but it was there. There was a faint flush to the Redguard’s sun-kissed skin, too. ‘Gotcha!’ Tilly thought. It was a small breakthrough, but it was enough. A wedge in the door. Was it too early to wonder if a shared bedchamber was in the future? Perhaps.

“So, what brings a Redguard, the ‘vile and detested’ enemy of the valiant Ebonheart Pact, to the frozen wastes of Skyrim?” Tilly took it slow. There may be a wedge in the door, but it was clear this Redguard was not one to open that door readily. “Was it the mead? ‘Cos, I can tell you, it ain’t worth the journey.”

“No.” Again, a slight smile. It was a beautiful smile, too. “I come here seeking answers.”

“Answers? Like what?” Tilly wanted this to continue. It was the longest string of words than any the Redguard and the Khajiit had made since they’d been thrown in the cell. And the Khajiit had still said nothing, yet. “Why is the sky blue? Do fish have ears? Am I going to meet a deliciously beautiful dark elf?”

“No. Nothing like that.” The moment was passing. The Redguard was retreating and Tilly needed to keep the conversation running, if only for the sake of her sanity.

“Go on!” She urged, “You can tell me. I can keep a secret.”

But, for some reason, Tilly had pushed too hard. The Redguard’s face became set. Stern. She rose, almost ceremoniously, from her knees and strode to the barred window, folding her arms and staring outside. Silent once more.

Tilly stared at the Redguard’s back, for a while, trying to work out what exactly had turned the conversation sour. Try as she might, she couldn’t work it out. So, she concluded, it wasn’t what she had said, but what the Redguard had been reminded of. Something painful that she was not ready to talk about. Tilly made a note of that for future reference.

After she had done musing about the Redguard’s reticence, she turned her attention to the Khajiit. The big dumb cat that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Interfering where she wasn’t wanted. If she had kept her big, dumb paws to herself, Tilly would have gotten away with it.

As it was, the furry oaf had done her a service as well as a wrong. Her first instinct, to punch the mark and start the fight that had ended up with them all here, had probably saved Tilly from being cast as the thief she was into the more acceptable role of one of the many brawlers. Still, if she hadn’t interfered ...

The Khajiit, though, seemed lost in her own thoughts. Staring into space. Sad. Tilly made a heavy sigh and dropped to sit on the floor. At least there were no skeevers in the cells today.

v. Revna.

This wasn’t anywhere near the first time that Revna had been involved in a drunken brawl. It certainly wasn’t the first time she had seen the inside of a cell for such a brawl. Nor was it even the first time that she had been still in a cell long after all the other participants had been released. Nord participants. It was, however, the first time she had shared a cell with such a varied array of cell mates.

It had become a common occurrence whenever she and her mothers had visited Winterhold, even though her mothers had been relatively well known there. It was more pronounced the few times they had visited Windhelm, where the prejudice against her was more open and vicious. The fact that she was a Khajiit with ‘pretensions’ of being Nord rankled the populace of Windhelm more than anywhere else.

For her part, Revna had both won and lost when she was younger, but the older she became, the more her mothers had trained her and the stronger she became, the losses began to dwindle. Which annoyed the Nords even more and caused them to seek her out for the challenge. To knock her down a peg or two.

She rarely got knocked down these days.

She still missed the Nords, though, now that they had been released. However they treated her, they were still her people and she had nothing in common with the other three that were left behind with her.

After the Bosmer had been taken to see her visitor, Revna had watched the exchanges between the Dunmer and the Redguard with mild amusement. There was something there but the elf had pushed in the wrong direction. Revna could see what it was. The Redguard had that same air of loss about her that Revna had. Perhaps there was some commonality there, but not enough that she would consider making friends over it.

She particularly missed the big Nord, Angjolf. The one with lustrous red hair and rippling muscles. She had exchanged a couple of blows with him in the inn and it felt glorious! There was a man that could earn her respect. If only she wasn’t Khajiit. If only.

Absent minded, she picked at her fur. Sometimes she wished she could tear it all out, every last black hair, and, underneath, find the Nord woman she was truly meant to be. Maybe then. Maybe then a man like Angjolf would take her for his wife. Maybe then she could walk a street and finally feel a part of her homeland. Maybe then.

What made it worse was that the few Khajiit males she had met, merchants and caravaners and such, had held no attractive qualities for her. She looked at these Khajiit as the Nords looked at her. Strange features. Strange speech. Strange culture. She looked down upon them as Nords looked down upon her. She understood the hypocrisy of that thought, but it was all she had ever known. Khajiit were too different.

Other things made her different, too. She had heard the guards whispering. Feline hearing was both blessing and burden. She had heard the mutterings about Ingrstad. About her and her part in the village’s loss. Even now, as she heard more movement outside the cell, she dipped her head in shame. Even though she knew she had nothing to feel shameful for, she still felt it. She still hadn’t saved them. She hadn’t been strong enough. Hadn’t been Nord enough. Thinking about it brought back those emotions she tried so hard to suppress. She wanted to claw and bite and roar, spit and fight until every last drop of pain purged from her body. She pushed those thoughts down. Pushed them deep.

“Right, you lot! Get up!” The cell guard banged on the cell bars to grab everyone’s attention, “You’re to see the Jarl. That’s a privilege few of your kind get, so watch your manners and show respect or you’ll have me to deal with.”

There was a noticeable amount of barely interested movement from the three remaining cell occupants, all standing in practical silence. Well, mostly silent.

“You’ll be wanting your keys back, then. I suppose.” The dark elf said, throwing the keys through the bars of the cell with a gleeful flick and giving a wink to the guard.


	3. Chapter 3

3

i. William of Anvil.

This was a mistake.

William had made his opinions quite clear on the matter and Jarl Borgun had dismissed them all. While he had the Jarl’s confidence, his respect and his friendship, there was only so far that he could push before the Jarl would explode. He was a Nord, after all, and William’s cheek and Imperial impudence would be tolerated only so far.

As it was, what the Jarl was proposing was tantamount to slavery and, despite the long list of societies that practiced it, William could not abide it. It was a familial dislike going back generations, to a time when William’s ancestors had been enslaved themselves. He hated slavery and could not tolerate the idea of man or mer being ‘owned’. It was a vulgar prospect.

The Jarl, however, had made his thoughts clear. It wasn’t slavery, really. The situation was both different and dire. The life of an innocent was at stake.

All very good excuses, but it still left a bitter taste in William’s mouth.

This was, perhaps, the first time he had ever had a true disagreement with the Jarl. Their relationship had been a long and turbulent one. Borgun had taken William as his steward not only because of his friendship and intelligence, but also because William had always been honest with him. Right from the beginning and Borgun’s less than wholesome youth.

William had been a clerk in Anvil’s bank and had been tasked to take certain private and important documents to the bank’s counterpart in Kvatch. A relatively simple task that would have taken no longer than a day to accomplish. Were it not for a bunch of near incompetent bandits, he would have been home and drinking ale before sunset.

Captured. His document bag thoroughly rummaged through and emptied. And then interrogated by a beast of a man who thought a clerk, travelling alone, would be carrying gold or something else valuable. William had thought his days were numbered, made plain by the discussions the bandits were making about whether it was more simple to kill him and have done with it.

Except for one man. A big Nord, smarter than the others, argued the case for ransom. When William couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut, telling them they had little chance of getting a ransom for a mere clerk, it was the big Nord that had laughed. The others didn’t find it funny.

Weapons were drawn. Threats to kill had become actions and the big Nord intervened. He hadn’t signed on for murder, he had said. In the following skirmish, William saw, for the first time in his life, blood spilled in anger. In defence of him, someone the big Nord didn’t know.

In the aftermath, the Nord had released William and promised to see him safe back to Anvil, if William kept his involvement between themselves. William had readily agreed. Who could have known that this would be the start of a 30 year friendship? Or that a bandit would one day become a respected Jarl?

William shook his head. Reminiscences were of no help in this situation. The prisoners were on their way from the cells and Dirgan Oakenheart, the Jarl’s court mage, would be finishing his preparations. It was time to swallow his pride and perform his duty.

Even if it did stick in his throat.

ii. Jarl Borgun.

Borgun watched as the guards filed the prisoners into the main hall. The golden manacles and chains had been attached to them, binding them all together. They were a disparate group of people, that was certain. Varied races. Varied heights and builds. Varied personalities. Some seemed more experienced in life’s darker matters than others, he could tell from the way they held themselves. Borgun was a very shrewd man even if his Nord upbringing would cause him to act, sometimes, before thinking.

The guards lined the prisoners up, before him, and then stepped back to the edges of the room, as Borgun had ordered. These people held no fear for him. His only fear was for his daughter. Ysrey had finally listened to him and had made her way to her bedchamber. Beautiful, dear Ysrey. The daughter that he had condemned with his thoughtless actions so long ago. But now, with the help of these people before him, what was done could finally be undone. Even if it was too late for his wife and son.

Absent minded, he touched one of the golden manacles attached to his own wrist, hidden by his sleeve. Glancing to one side at William of Anvil and then to the other side where the gruff Dirgan Oakenheart stood, he considered whether William was right. That this was foolhardy, immoral, even, but dismissed those thoughts when he thought of Ysrey and his lost wife and son. It was necessary.

Standing, he prepared to start the whole sorry business.

“What’s this all about, old man?” The dark elf. Tall, beautiful and roguish, she had spoken first and forthright. Even disrespectful. Borgun liked that. It reminded him of his wife. “And what’s with these gold chains? Are you just trying to prove how rich you are?”

There was an angry stirring throughout the main hall. The guards had begun to step forward, stopped only by a simple raised hand. William had lowered his head, trying to hide his amusement and Dirgan ... Dirgan’s face didn’t change. Carved from stone, that old mage, and twice as hard.

“Quite right. You have a right to know why I have brought you here, young, ah ...” Borgun turned toward William, glad to see his steward had tempered his amusement.

“Tilly High-Haven, my lord.” William interjected, pointing at Tilly. He then moved his hand, pointing at the others, “Itagaki, a bedouin of Alik’r, Öenthir Riverfall of the Aldmeri Dominion and Revna Astadottir ... of Ingrstad.”

There was an increase of muttering from the edges of the hall as the guards heard Ingrstad named. Angry muttering. Borgun ignored them and returned his attention to the four prisoners.

“Yes, you all have a right to know why you are here,” Borgun stepped forward. He towered above all but the Khajiit and even she only came up to the level of his nose. “But, it is better, and easier, to show you than to tell you the whole tale.”

Dirgan now stepped forward. A great staff of oak, little more than a thick branch, almost fresh fallen from a tree, in one hand and a golden chain in the other. Silent, he attached the chain to the golden manacles on Borgun’s wrists and connected the chain to the one that held the others as a group.

“Oh!” Cried Öenthir, “I know what you’re doing! This, this isn’t right! The Mages Guild would never allow it!”

“There are authorities not held by the Mages Guild, child.” Dirgan’s voice rumbled around the hall like waves of rocks crashing together, “They are but one school of magick and the weakest.”

“Weakest?” Öenthir squeaked in anger, but it was drowned out as the magick that Dirgan was performing was causing a minor storm to appear above their heads. Lightning flashed within the contained storm and fired down surrounding Borgun and the prisoners within a wall of barely held force.

iii. The Past.

Borgun slapped Borug gro-Naz-Muzh’s hand away for the third time and replaced the orc’s ale mug back in the pattern. He could understand the Orsimer’s frustration. He didn’t like anyone touching his mead flagon, himself, but this was important. The Altmer, likewise was staring, in that officious manner of his, as Borgun moved his wine glass into position.

“So, picture it. Tamriel. The First Era.” With all three drinking receptacles in place, Borgun could finally begin telling them the plan. “Three races, all antagonistic towards each other. Skirmishes, wars, people on all sides dying for philosophies few really cared about.

He picked up the wine glass and made sure all four people at the table could see it. The orc, his arms crossed, was still unhappy about the use of his mug. Tiirakan, the high elf mage, barely registered a change in his demeanour. The Argonian, Dances-In-Moonlight, ... well, the Argonian didn’t drink, but he always looked half-cut as it was.

“The Ayleids.” He placed the wine glass down, “A people, an Empire, in decline. Fighting fiercely to hold onto their relevance.”

Picking up his own flagon of mead, he carefully showed each of them, making sure he made eye contact with them all.

“The Ancient Nords. My ancestors.” Again, he placed the flagon down before continuing. “A people on the rise, freed from Ayleid slavery and fighting to create a new dynasty of their own.”

“Do you understand even half of these words?” Tiirakan mused, sarcasm dripping with every syllable.

“Yes. I do.” Borgun bristled and tried to continue.

“Most unusual. For a Nord, I mean.” It was deliberate. Tiirakan had a wicked sense of humour, if a little dry, but he did so like annoying his friends. Borgun did his best to ignore it.

“Anyway,” He picked up gro-Naz-Muzh’s mug causing the orc to grumble, yet again. “And the Dwemer. The dwarves are at, or close, to the height of their power. Dismissive of the failing Ayleids. Aggressive towards the rising Nord’s.”

He placed the ale mug back on the table.

“A great war between these three peoples was inevitable, some thought, possibly covering the whole of Tamriel. A total war that would have killed many, many innocent people. But ...” From a pocket, he pulled out some knuckle-bones, a game he liked to play to pass the time. One by one, he placed three bones in the centre of the pattern made by the drinking vessels. “Three mages, powerful mages, decided they could stop it before it even began. One mage from each of the factions.”

“Is this going anywhere?” gro-Naz-Muzh interjected. He enjoyed his ale and Borgun, friend that he was, was close to being battered senseless if he didn’t return his ale pretty damned soon.

“Yes. It is.” Borgun’s hands had clenched into fists. Knuckles white. He loved these people like family, but these interruptions were becoming very annoying, very fast.

“Only, I’m here for the fighting. The fighting and the drinking afterwards. And the money. The fighting, the drinking and the money. All this talking is getting in the way of all three.” Borgun stared at the orc until he shut up, a dramatic wave urging Borgun to continue before crossing his arms again. Borgun continued staring a little while longer.

“Anyway,” Borgun picked the knuckle-bones back up, “The three mages decided to create three powerful gems, each imbued with the entirety of their formidable powers. Gems of power that would be used to bring peace to the world. The Gems of Unison, however, were far more powerful than the mages anticipated. So powerful, that the mages decided to hide them away where no man or mer could possibly misuse them.”

“That was rather silly of them, wasn’t it?” Dances-In-Moonlight had remained silent for so long that hearing his croaky, hissing voice caused all heads at the table to turn towards him in unison. “Why didn’t they just put a little power in the gems?”

“Because they thought ... they needed to ...” Borgun slammed the knuckle-bones down on the table, “Look! I don’t bloody know! Alright? Do you want to hear my plan, or not?”

“Why don’t you just tell us, dear boy?” Tiirakan said, cutting through the tension. Borgun, angry, frustrated, looked from one face at the table to the other and stood up.

“I know where gems are, I know how to get them and I know who we can sell them to.” Picking up his flagon of mead, he downed it in one long gulp before slamming the empty flagon back on the table. “I’m going for a piss.”

All three remaining at the table watched the big Nord storm off. The Altmer with detached amusement. The Orsimer with a shrug, leaning over to grab his mug of ale. The Argonian as if he didn’t quite understand what was happening or, indeed, why he was there.

“He’s too easy to play, sometimes.” gro-Naz-Muzh said, laughing into his mug. The other two nodded.

-+-

Borgun, with one hand, wiped the blood, sweat and ichor from his face. He didn’t have the time, but he stared at that hand. Shaking, blood soaked. He had never known his hands to shake before, but then, he had never faced odds like this before. He wiped the hand on his armour and then returned the hand back to grip his sword as tight as he had ever held it.

It was looking very much like this was the end.

Dances-In-Moonlight had been the first to die. Skewered by some eldritch weapon Borgun had never before seen. He had been the lucky one. gro-Naz-Muzh had been less lucky. Literally torn apart by the horde of fell creatures that now surrounded them.

“Return them to us, or everything you love will fall to ruin and ash.” The same phrase. Repeated over and over again by the three spirits of the mages. Talking in terrifying unison. Words seeming to bypass the ears and slither straight into Borgun’s brain.

Borgun tried to see how Tiirakan was holding up without taking his eyes from the creatures beyond the barrier. It wasn’t looking good. Already injured, the strain of holding back the combined horde of reanimated skeletons, Dwemer machines and draugr was taking its toll upon the proud Altmer.

“Keep fighting, mage! I just ... I just need a moment to get my breath back.” Borgun’s knees felt weak. He thought he could collapse at any moment. “Keep fighting.”

“Put ... put the gems back.” Tiirakan’s knees did give out, forcing him to the floor, causing the magickal barrier to shiver and, in that moment, allowing a skeleton through. Before it could strike Tiirakan, Borgun’s blade hacked the creature into lifeless bones.

“I did put them back! In the exact order! It didn’t work!” The Gems of Unison felt heavy in the pouch at his waist, as if some force were pulling at them.

“Return them to us, or everything you love will fall to ruin and ash.” Again the eerie combined voices called, rising above the din of the noises the creatures were making.

“Then we must flee. But I will need your aid, old friend, for I fear I cannot walk.” It was clear that Tiirakan’s strength was at its end. “I will open a portal, but the moment I do, the barrier will fall. You must pull me through. Can you do that, old friend? Do you have the strength?”

“Aye! By Ysgramor’s beard, we’ll not be feasting in Sovngarde this day!” Borgun grabbed a good handful of the shoulder of the mages robes, ignoring his shaking hand. “Whenever you’re ready, elf!”

The world seemed to slow down.

Tiirakan, lifting his hand to throw the magicks to open the portal.

“Return them to us ...” The voices, once more.

Borgun, shifting his feet, preparing for one last burst of strength.

“... or everything you love ...” Seeming to grow even louder.

The barrier beginning to fall.

“Fus!” A different voice from within the horde of creatures.

“... will fall ...”

The portal beginning to open.

“Ro!” A draugr Death Lord expanding its chest.

Borgun lifting Tiirakan with all the strength he had left.

“... to ruin and ash.”

“Dah!”

A wave of force ripped through what little was left of Tiirakan’s barrier, lifting both Borgun and Tiirakan and throwing them like pitiful twigs in a storm.

Borgun’s grip failed him and the two friends were separated by the magickal blast of force. While Tiirakan was thrown into a cracked and crumbling column, Borgun got lucky for the first time that day, flying through the air and into the maw of the portal Tiirakan had conjured.

The last Borgun saw of his friend was his eyes. Surprise. Confusion. Fear. Pleading. All could be seen in those eyes.

“Return them to us ...” Was the last thing that he heard and, upon regaining consciousness on the other side of the portal, those words continued to ring in his head.

He had found himself in a field of wheat, not far from a small village in Cyrodiil and, while sat on the dusty ground, his hand leapt to the pouch at his waist.

Still there!

He had lost three friends this day. Three good and loyal friends! And all for these Stendarr damned gems. He’d be damned, himself, if he’d let their lives be lost for nothing! Return the gems? Never! They were his, now. Three gems. One each for the souls of his friends.

It was too high a price.

-+-

The Jarl’s seat, at the end of the longhouse, felt even larger than usual. Borgun felt swamped by it. Belittled by it. All the power that a Jarl of Skyrim could bring forth and none of it, not a single thing, could help him now.

He sat, slumped at the edge of the seat. The circlet of office, in his hands, felt heavy and burdensome more than usual. He traced the three gems, set in the circlet, with calloused fingers. A sadness and anger filling him.

The voices had been silent for many years, now, and he had moved on from the terrible events of his youth. He had grown in the intervening years. From bandit, to warrior, to soldier and finally to Jarl. His reputation, for many years, was spotless and filled with many heroic acts. He had, it seemed, been blessed by the Eight.

But the voices had returned. Quietly, at first, barely even the idea of a whisper and now, after three months, it was like a constant scream in his head.

“Return them to us, or everything you love will fall to ruin and ash.” They said. Words he never thought he would hear again. Words that now brought chills to his bones and a fear. Not for him, but for his family.

His wife was dying.

The children couldn’t understand and nor could he adequately explain it. His son, Yorgun, was almost of age and he could not put into words his feelings. His daughter, Ysrey, was still so young. So unused to suffering and death. How could he even begin to explain to her? Explain that their mother was not ill. That she had not been injured, or hurt in any way. That she was cursed because of him. That she was just ... fading away.

“Return them to us, or everything you love will fall to ruin and ash.”

Dirgan, that mountain of a mage, entered the main hall and strode towards Borgun, the great tree limb he called a staff banging a rhythm upon the floor. He looked even more grim than usual. The healers had failed. Dirgan, himself, had failed, going so far as to suggest contacting the Mages Guild and even they had failed. The priests of the Divines, witches, even the hagravens of the Reach failed to break the curse.

“She’s gone, isn’t she?” Borgun didn’t even look up. He didn’t need it confirmed. He already knew. The voices were fading away again. Dirgan remained stoic, silent. He didn’t need to say anything, only stand there for his Jarl.

Borgun wept silently upon the Jarl’s seat, thinking only of his children now. ‘Please let this be the end of it! By Ysgramor’s blood, let it be the end!’ he thought as he let the circlet slip from his fingers.

The circlet landed, with a musical tinkle, upon the floor, Dirgan noting the slight darkening of one of the gems.

-+-

Borgun placed his hand on his son’s head. It was cold and Yorgun’s face held no expression in death that it ever wore in life. The expression was neither horrific nor was it beatific. It was blank, as if the boy’s entire personality had left the body along with his soul.

A stray lock of hair had fallen across one eye and Borgun carefully brushed it back into place and then, just as carefully, smoothed Yorgun’s hair as he had done a hundred times in the years of Yorgun’s youth.

The stiff warrior’s posture that Borgun usually held was gone. Likewise, his face had changed dramatically in such a short time. Drawn, pale and tired. He gripped the edge of the altar, his knuckles white and strained, as he tried so hard to hold back tears. Even in such times, it was expected of a Jarl to maintain his composure, but it was so hard.

“He feasts in Sovngarde now, my lord.” Dirgan’s booming voice echoed behind him. Even in whispers, the man’s voice could shake mountains. “He sits by Ysgramor’s right hand and drinks with the heroes of old.”

“Does he?” Borgun didn’t turn to Dirgan. His voice was soft and broken.

“Aye! He died in battle with the blood of his enemies upon his sword!” Dirgan had stepped forward, the Nord in him flushing with the fervour only a good fight could bring. “What more can be asked of a true son of Skyrim?”

“He has no wounds! No sword killed my son! No arrow pierced his skin! No spear ran him through!” Even Dirgan was taken aback by the sudden anger erupting from his Jarl. “No mortal hand took my son from me!”

The voices had receded, once again silent in his mind, but, yet again, for three months they had tormented Borgun. During waking hours and during sleep, he had heard those voices, over and over. Heard them, that is, until yesterday, when the voices had finally silenced.

“Return them to us, or everything you love will fall to ruin and ash.”

He knew, straight away that his son was dead.

Tasked with putting down an errant group of murderous bandits, Yorgun had leapt at the opportunity. Times had been quiet in Skyrim before the Three Banners War erupted and chances of finding glory had been few and far between for young Nords, hungry for the clash of steel upon steel.

The fight had gone well, with few injuries on the side of the valiant Riften guard. But then, after Yorgun had taken the head of the bandit leader in a furious exchange, the Jarl’s son had collapsed. He was dead before he hit the floor.

“Your son fought with honour and was victorious.” Dirgan gritted his teeth, leaning heavily upon his great staff, “He resides in Sovngarde, as a hero. Do not take that from him! Do not shame his memory with this ... this milk drinker talk!”

At that insult, fury erupted from Borgun. Spinning on his heel, he pulled his sword from its scabbard and had it pointed at Dirgan’s throat before the last word had finished echoing in the Hall of the Dead.

“You dare speak to your Jarl this way? In front of his dead son!” For the moment, the frailty was gone. The tiredness, dissipated. This was the Jarl Dirgan knew so well! Yet, Dirgan didn’t move, only staring deep into Borgun’s eyes.

“Remember this feeling, Borgun! You are a Nord Jarl! Act like one!” Dirgan glanced at Borgun’s circlet of office. A second gem now as dark as the other. “As for the curse ... We ... I will redouble my efforts. Your daughter will not suffer this fate. You have my word.”

iv. Jarl Borgun - The present.

The miniature storm had dissipated and only stray electrical arcs flittered across the floor between the five of them. Borgun regained his senses, quicker than most of the others, it would seem. Each of the four former prisoners were in some form of disarray, their golden cuffs and chains gone, absorbed into them by the powerful magicks wrought by Borgun’s mage. Dirgan had said there would be minor aftereffects, but this felt like a terrible hangover.

Surprisingly, it was the little Bosmer mage that had recovered the quickest and her petite, child-like face showed an incongruous fury as she looked around for sight of Borgun.

“What have you done?” She snapped. Even in her anger, though, she did not make any unseemly moves or falter in her perfectly actuated posture. “People have died through misuse of this kind of magick!”

The dark elf, trying hard not to retch, looked from the Bosmer to Borgun and back.

“What kind of magick? What have they done to us?” The Dunmer bent over, breathing heavily. “Apart from showing us visions and making me feel like I’ve eaten last month’s fish.”

“They’ve bound us! Magickal binding that cannot be broken.” Öenthir made a cautious step away from the ill looking dark elf. “The Mages Guild banned binding spells! They’re too easy to use for nefarious purposes.”

“What does ‘nefarious’ mean?” The Khajiit, her composure regained, now joined in the questioning.

“Bad purposes. Evil purposes.” Chimed in the Redguard.

Borgun watched the exchange between the four outsiders. He could feel their anger, their confusion. Literally. A side-effect of the binding was an empathic link between all five of them. Dirgan had warned this could happen. These spells were known to have erratic consequences.

He looked towards Dirgan with a silent question. A question that Dirgan would understand without having to verbalise it. With a nod, Dirgan raised his hand, testing the binding and the connection he had made between the five people before him.

“The binding is stable. None can break it now, save for myself.” Having performed his task, Dirgan stepped back, leaning upon his staff and watching the ongoing proceedings.

Nodding, Borgun turned and made his way back to the Jarl’s seat at the end of the longhouse. He was no longer a young man and events of the past couple of years had aged him even more. He dropped into his seat and leant his head against the seat’s back for a second. Steeling himself, projecting the attitude of a Jarl, he finally gestured to the four bound outsiders.

The four cautiously stepped forward, unhappy, confused and angry. Each had wary looks upon their faces. Each, except the dark elf, who appeared to be unmoved. Amused, even. Thanks to the binding, Borgun could also feel what they were feeling. Again, all except the Dunmer, who appeared to feel nothing.

“As it was in the beginning, so it shall be at the end.” Borgun stated. “Two warriors, a mage and a thief.”

“Hey!” The dark elf, Tilly, snapped. “I am not a thief! Well, not anymore. Not really. Well, not all the time. I’m ...”

“A rogue, then? A woman with morals that bend in the wind, yes?” He was tired now and was eager to to see his bedchamber. “But, enough of this for this night. The spellcasting has tired me beyond what I expected. I have arranged a room for you here, for the night. Tomorrow I will tell you of your task, but, for now, sleep.”

He didn’t bother to dismiss them, not that these four would care. He rose from his seat and, aching, left the room and all who were left there.


	4. Chapter 4

4

i. Öenthir.

She awoke with a pounding headache, an aftereffect of the binding. Rubbing her eyes before rising, she wondered how she was going to explain all of this to Loremaster Dukhat or, Y’ffre forbid, the Guild Master. They wouldn’t allow it if they knew.

She flipped the fur bed cover aside and, with a dainty twist, placed her feet on the cold, straw covered stone floor. It smelled like a farm and was as cold as a cellar in deepest winter. Then she remembered. It was winter. Winter in Skyrim, no less, and it didn’t get much colder than the Northern holds.

The New Life Festival was a mere couple of weeks away and, if this imbecilic situation wasn’t resolved before then, she would miss the celebrations with her friends back in Auridon.

Standing, she moved to the far wall, passing the other beds and their sleeping occupants, where the wash basin sat upon a table carved with Nord symbols, beneath the tiny window. The water was freezing but, thankfully, not iced over, as she had feared it would be. She made her ablutions as quickly as possible, shivering the whole time, drying herself with the coarse towel hanging beside the table.

The rough woollen nightdress they had provided for her itched and she ached to get back into proper clothing and, glancing at her dress, neatly folded upon a chair beside the bed, she also wished she had her luggage. Wearing the same clothing as yesterday was not something she approved of, not even when it was made from the finest Elsweyr silk. It was just not done.

The headache was still there and showed no signs of receding, but she soldiered on and got dressed as soon as she could. She needed to see the Jarl. Needed to explain that she couldn’t possibly be part of this ... this whatever it was. She had duties. Boring, repetitive duties, but duties nonetheless. She’d never make initiate at this rate.

“By the Eight!” One of her cell mates, (the Khajiit, Revna, she presumed by the sound of the thick Nord accent), was stirring, “How much did I drink last night?”

The Khajiit threw off the fur covers and almost jumped from the bed, completely naked.

ii. Revna.

Revna had been far too warm during the night, removing the soft woollen shift that had been provided for them all. It was too tight, anyway. Even then, the thick, luxurious fur blanket had kept her warmer than she would normally like, too. Winter down here in the Rift was almost like Spring back home, thanks to the surrounding mountains providing protection and a milder climate. She felt like she had sweated pounds off her and the searing headache didn’t help anything.

She made her way to the washbasin and gave herself a thorough cleaning, the water feeling refreshing upon her fur. The Bosmer mage, whose name Revna couldn’t even begin to pronounce, had been shocked at her nakedness, she could tell, but now Revna could also feel the mage’s eyes upon her and an eerie feeling that she was almost crying.

“Is there something wrong, mage?” She didn’t turn around, continuing to wash, “Do you expect me to lick my paws to clean myself?”

Revna could tell the mage had been shocked that she could tell she was looking. A little bit ashamed, too, perhaps. She began drying herself and then turned around. The mage was trying to look anywhere but at her.

“No, it’s not that. I’ve met a lot of Khajiit. I know you’re not a cat. It’s just ...” Finally the mage looked at Revna, her eyes misty and filled with pity. “Your back. The scars. I’m ... I’m so sorry you had to suffer that.”

Revna considered this for a while. Most other people didn’t care about the scars. She was only a Khajiit playing at being a Nord. They never considered why they were there, whether she had earned them in battle. She was only a figure of fun and scorn. Yet here was an elf, a Bosmer from far away, and she was the first person to show concern for her, about anything, since her mothers had died.

“It’s not something I like to talk about.” Revna reached her bed and picked up her underclothes from the chair beside it. She felt self-conscious as she dressed. “But, thank you for your concern.”

“Still, whatever happened, I’m sorry.” The mage dropped her eyes and turned, beginning to straighten the bed she had slept in. Tidying the fur bed cover, fluffing and straightening the pillow and then folding the night dress neat and square, placing it on the bed.

She was a strange one, that mage, Revna thought. An innocent in a world bereft of such niceties. It was a pleasant change from most of the people she had met in life. A change to meet someone who seemed to care. Genuine care.

By this time, the Redguard, Itagaki, had risen from her bed. She had been silent, observing the exchange between Revna and Öenthir. She approached Revna with a lithe, practiced stride.

“You do not have my pity.” It was not the opening exchange Revna had expected. Although, Revna had no idea what to expect from the quiet Redguard, “You have my respect. Scars such as those are earned at great cost. There is a story to those scars. One you may, or may not, regale us with in the future. I may not know your story, but I have seen a thousand stories told in a thousand scars and those, those tell the tale of a warrior.”

With that, the Redguard turned away, back to her own bed. Revna could tell another warrior by looking at them, but this warrior? She was an enigma. She had said little since her exchange with the dark elf in the cell and now had said more than the whole time they had been in each other’s company. Revna was wary of the Redguard, as she would be with anyone, but something told her that this Redguard could be trusted.

iii. Itagaki.

She washed and dressed quickly after speaking with the Khajiit, Revna. It had surprised her as much as anyone that she had said what she said. Itagaki had resolved to hold back and stand on the sidelines as much as possible with this little group. There were likely going to be more conversations and questions like the one she had had with the Dunmer, Tilly, and it wasn’t something she wanted to talk about.

Her shame was not something she wanted to share, yet, seeing the scars on Revna’s back, it gave her a sense that she wasn’t alone in her suffering. The fact that the Bosmer’s pity had been palpable, it had stirred something in her. She wanted Revna to know that someone truly understood the burden of being a warrior. The pain that it could bring.

She wanted to settle down somewhere quiet and practice her daily meditation, but, without her swords to use as a focus, she would probably find herself too distracted. It didn’t help that the headache she had was causing her to have to concentrate harder. It pounded in her head like no other headache she’d ever had.

By now, Tilly had awoken. It didn’t surprise Itagaki, at all, that the Dunmer, like Revna, had also slept naked. Unlike the Khajiit, however, used to the chill of the Northern holds more than the rest, it wasn’t likely for the comfort of feeling cooler. No, it was likely that Tilly slept naked just for the hell of it, or in an effort to shock. That was the impression she got from the Dunmer.

Still, Itagaki couldn’t help but admire Tilly’s form. Above average in height, for a dark elf, Tilly’s body was slim and tight. Her dark blue/grey skin was as flawless as her almost perfect face and her long silver/white hair cascaded over her shoulders and down to the middle of her back like a moonlit waterfall. She was stunningly beautiful.

Itagaki caught herself. It wasn’t that she was averse to relations with a woman, or even between races, but, as part of the penance she had given herself, she had given up such things as love, romance, even lust. At least until she believed she had served her penance. Until she had learnt if it was even possible to forgive herself. But the beauty and demeanour of this cheeky dark elf had lit a fire inside her that she had thought extinguished. She needed to meditate, desperately.

She was beautiful, though.

“Mara’s crotch! My head is banging!” Tilly barked as she held a hand to her forehead. “Has anybody else got a headache?”

iv. Tilly.

Tilly caught that look from the Redguard, Itagaki, and smiled. Or, at least, tried to. This Vivec damned headache felt like iron nails being hammered into her brain. She moved to the wash basin and tipped the contents out, pouring the water over the table and the floor. Grabbing the water jug, she sloshed fresh water into the basin and immediately dipped her face into the frigid liquid.

She stayed like that for a few seconds before lifting her head, leaning on the table with one hand and wiping her face with the other. She paused, spat and wiped the excess water from her hand on her backside.

“Well that didn’t help at all.” She hated headaches. Headaches sapped concentration and lacking concentration can get you arrested. She turned back to the others. “Seriously, has no-one else got a headache?”

“Aye, little elf.” That annoying slab of fur, Revna, confirmed. “I don’t get headaches. Not often, anyway. But this is the worst I’ve ever had.”

Itagaki and the prim Bosmer both nodded, adding their agreement to the Khajiit’s. The mage was looking anywhere but at Tilly’s nakedness and Itagaki was staring studiously at the floor. The mage due to what Tilly believed was moral indignation and the Redguard through embarrassment. Both were equally funny reactions.

“It’s probably connected to the binding.” The mage ventured, examining the ceiling now.

“What does that even mean? Loo-wen-fear, is it?” Tilly tried to pronounce the Bosmer’s name.

“Öenthir.” The mage corrected.

“Fthlu-wen-fear?”

“Öenthir!” The mage was looking at her now. At Tilly’s eyes, at least. It was clear she had experience of people getting her name wrong.

“Right. I’m just going to call you ‘Wen’, alright?”

“No! It’s ...”

“Wen it is, then.” Tilly wasn’t going to continue that discussion. She wanted answers. “So, you know all about this ‘binding’, Wen. Tell us what it means to us.”

The mage seemed to collect her thoughts for a second. She was feeling self-conscious, what with all the eyes on her. Not to mention that Tilly had no intention of getting clothed. The mage shifted into a more comfortable position on the bed and leaned forward in a conspiratorial fashion.

“Binding spells were used for many, many years. At first, the uses were benign.” Tilly noticed the cat’s brow furrow, much like her own, and the mage seemed to know she had to explain that word. “Good or neutral uses. They were for short-term business contracts and to ensure both employees and employers stuck to their promises. That sort of thing. Originally, they were actually marriage binding spells created by the Reachmen’s ancestors. It’s quite fascinating.”

“No. It’s not. Tell us how it affects us.” Tilly sat beside Öenthir, if only to add to the mage’s discomfort. “We don’t need a history lesson.”

“No, you really do.” The Bosmer was now in her element. Magick and lore, spells and history. Tilly could feel the excitement in the mage. “When binding spells began to be used for nefa ... bad purposes, things started going wrong. Used to bind slaves forever, or to make someone marry you even if they didn’t want to. That sort of thing caused side-effects. Some people went mad. Some died. Worse things. It’s like the spell or magicka itself knew it was being used for evil. It’s why the Mages Guild banned it.”

“So, these headaches we are having, they are side-effects?” It was Itagaki that interrupted. No longer looking at the floor, but not looking at Tilly, either. Which was a pity.

“Hypothetically, yes.” The mage tried to edge away from Tilly while answering, but Tilly edged with her. She liked the wood elf’s discomfort. It was fun. “I mean, yes, I think so.”

“And the binding cannot be broken?” It was the cat’s turn to add to the questions.

“Only by the mage who cast the spell.” The mage’s discomfort was changing to annoyance as Tilly remained in contact with her body and she turned towards Tilly casting a disparaging eye up and down her body. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Yes. Yes I am.” Tilly waved her hand, with a dramatic flourish, in front of her chest. “Can’t you tell?”

The Khajiit, Revna, began laughing. A lovely tinkling laughter that was completely different from the way she spoke. It was a full-on belly laugh that went on for quite a while and, eventually, the others began to join in. Even the Redguard. There might be hope for the cat after all.

There was a polite cough from the doorway of the bedroom, cutting through the laughter. William, the Jarl’s steward, had entered.

“If you ladies are ready, the Jarl has summoned you to him.” The words were formal, but the amused look in his eye showed he had caught the last part of the conversation.

“Ugh. I suppose he’ll expect me to attend him dressed?” Tilly tilted her head back, looking over her shoulder at the Imperial.

“It would probably be for the best.” William turned and left the room, trying to hide his smile.

Tilly fell back onto Öenthir’s bed, stretching her arms above her head, a gesture of a lazy, carefree attitude and not even beginning to make a move to get dressed.

v. William of Anvil.

William did hope that the ladies didn’t think he had been spying on them getting dressed. That would be embarrassing, indeed. They weren’t to know that he had no interest in their bodies. He had no interest in any bodies, to be fair. Female or male. It wasn’t something that he had ever cared about. He doubted the dark elf cared anyway. That one was born to push boundaries and to shock, William was certain of that.

He did wonder, sometimes, what it was like to love someone and be loved in return, but then he would drift away to the latest costings, or to the woes of farmers whose crops weren’t doing so well and were obviously cursed by some evil being that had an innate hatred of all things vegetable. And don’t even get him started on sexual relations! He could feel himself retch at the mere thought of it.

He was certain it was due to Tilly dragging her heels that it took a full ten minutes for them all to shamble into the main hall of the longhouse and to stand in disparate state before the Jarl. The Dunmer even yawned and scratched her backside in the Jarl’s presence! Stendarr’s mercy!

Thanks to the binding, his lordship was suffering from a profound headache and had charged William to take the proceedings. It was something William did not relish, but his duties were so ill-defined and nebulous, at the best of times, that he was determined to make the best of it.

He forced a polite cough to grab the attention of the attending women. And again, louder and not quite as polite, when they initially ignored him.

“My lord, Jarl Borgun, would like you to know that you are in no danger from the binding and that you will be richly rewarded, and released from that binding, once you have completed the task he is charging you with.” It was a good opening. A strong opening. Telling them they were safe and that they will be paid. Two things, he had no doubt, that were at the forefront of their minds. “If you will permit me, I will inform you of what the task entails.”

“Bugger the task!” Of course, it was the Dunmer that had spoken, “We want to know how to get rid of this flaming headache!”

William made a sideways glance to the oaf of a mage on the other side of the Jarl. He had allowed a slight noise of amusement to erupt and could have undermined any authority that William was trying to project. Of course William found the girl amusing, too, but this wasn’t the time, or place, to allow that amusement to show.

“I assure you,” Through gritted teeth, William continued, eventually stopping his irritated stare at Dirgan and turning his attention back to the four women, “The discomfort you are currently feeling will subside once you accept the task put forward to you.”

“Then, it’s not a side-effect, but an intended effect?” Ah, the little Bosmer mage was interested now.

“Absolutely! The binding was never meant to harm you, but to guide you. To hold you to the task.” He watched as the wood elf’s mind chewed on the information. The Khajiit looked confused, the Reguard was impassive and the Dunmer ... well, she looked bored. “The binding is an empathic link. When one feels a strong emotion, all will feel it. When one or more thinks about, or does, stray from the task, then all will suffer, mildly, for it. It’s an incentive, not a punishment.”

“It feels like a punishment.” Revna was not used to this many big ideas and words, but she was trying to understand.

“Well, it’s not.” William felt like he was losing control of the situation. He hadn’t even started telling them about the task, yet.

“But, why are we feeling this pain now, when you haven’t even told us what we are supposed to be doing?” The Redguard spoke little but missed nothing, it would seem.

“Well, one of you (or more) is considering running away. One, or more, of you is thinking they won’t do it, I expect.” Almost everyones eyes turned immediately to the Dunmer, who took a second to realise.

“Oh, that’s right! Blame the dark elf! Typical.” Tilly hooked a thumb towards William, “Fancy Pants here said ‘richly rewarded’. He didn’t need to say any more, I was in right there. It’s not me.”

“A Jarl has ordered me.” Added Revna, “It’s my duty to do as he asks.”

“It is not I.” Itagaki continued the denials, “Perhaps it is fate that brought me to this. Perhaps this is the guidance from the Divines that I seek. I do not shirk this task, whatever it may be.”

All eyes turned, then, to the only one that had remained silent. The little wood elf, Öenthir, was backing away. So many emotions in her eyes, emotions that the other three and the Jarl could feel as well as see. Fear. Embarrassment. Trepidation. A distinct feeling of stubbornness. She shook her head several times as she backed away.

“I can’t. I just can’t. I simply can’t.” The poor child was terrified. William felt sorry for her. “I’m a student. I’m not even an initiate! I only know five spells. Five! And they aren’t that powerful. I just can’t. I have duties. I have friends. I can’t and you can’t make me! I have to go home. I have a book to take back for the Loremaster.”

William turned to the Jarl for guidance. It was clear, with the outburst from the wood elf, that the intensity of the headache had increased. Yet, even through the pain, the Jarl was still the Jarl. Borgun straightened his back.

“Enough!” Jarl Borgun hooked a finger at his court mage, “Dirgan. Speak with the child. Mage to mage. William and I will tell the others what I need them to do.”


	5. Chapter 5

5

i. Öenthir.

The tall Nord mage had said nothing since indicating to her to follow him. Only the steady tap, tap, tap of his great oaken staff hitting the floor had broken the silence as he led Öenthir through the longhouse, out of the side doors and in to the attached garden area.

Öenthir felt uneasy about what this was all leading to, but she remained steadfast in her determination to not be a part of whatever the Jarl had planned. It was quite impossible that she would be hijacked into doing something she didn’t want to do. She was a student of the Mages Guild!

It took her a second before she realised that Dirgan had stopped. They had arrived, apparently, at their destination.

“There were thirty years between Borgun taking the gems and when he heard the voices again telling him to return them. Three months later, his wife died.” Dirgan stared down at Öenthir, seeming to be double her own height. “Three years later, he heard the voices again followed by his son dying three months later. All threes. A pattern.”

Dirgan turned and held out his hand pointing to a spot in the garden. There, Öenthir saw a young girl, around twelve years old but, being a Nord child, taller than Öenthir herself. The girl was laughing and playing with a great, shaggy hound. She seemed very happy.

“The Jarl’s daughter, Ysrey. The last remaining member of the Jarl’s family.” Dirgan returned his attention to Öenthir, “She will soon be dead. If the curse’s pattern holds true, in little over three months time she will simply die. No disease or illness of any kind. Not killed by mortal hands. She will just die.”

Öenthir looked at the girl. So happy and full of life. So few years to her name and so many years that she may never see. A great wave of pity and shame swept over the little Bosmer. But it wasn’t only fear that was stopping her from doing what the Jarl wanted them all to do.

“The gems must be returned to the three ancient mages. Not back where Borgun found them, but to the mages themselves. To their tombs.” Dirgan was walking again, leading Öenthir from the garden and the doomed child. “We found this out far too late to save the Jarl’s son and it was not until recently that we found the location of just one of the tombs.”

“Why won’t you listen to me?” Öenthir was almost pleading. “Everyone keeps talking but no-one is listening! I’m sorry for the Jarl. I wish I could help him and his daughter, but I’m a student! I’m not a mage! I only know five weak spells! It’s not just that I’m afraid. I am! But, I don’t have the capability to help!”

Dirgan had led them, through a couple of doors, to another area of the longhouse grounds. A training compound where a few guards were practicing against straw dummies. With a simple gesture, Dirgan dismissed the guards and they scuttled from the compound.

“You know only five spells.” In the centre of the compound, now, Dirgan turned and once again towered over Öenthir, “Tell me them. Which spells do you ‘only’ know?”

“Alright,” Öenthir suspected that the grim and grizzled mage knew exactly what spells she knew, but she humoured him, anyway. “There’s minor healing, I’m able to slow down bleeding and promote faster natural healing. Mage’s Light, a small orb at the moment. A minor protection spell. Flame, which I use to light fires back home and I can summon a little rain cloud for fresh water when I’m on a book finding mission.”

“I see.” Dirgan seemed to muse upon the spells she had mentioned, “You see the training dummies? Each dummy gets hit a thousand times or more, in practice. But a warrior learns more with one stroke of a blade, in battle, than they will ever learn striking a dummy.”

Dirgan reached behind his back, pulling out a dagger from its hidden sheath. Holding his staff in the crook of his elbow, he slashed his wrist with the dagger. Öenthir jumped back, shocked, her mind failing to work fast enough to do anything. Dirgan, meanwhile, stood there as his life blood gushed and spurted from his veins into pools on the floor before him. Soon his skin became pale and drawn but, with practiced ease, his other hand made the required gestures.

All of a sudden, Öenthir could feel the magicka in the air, like electricity before a storm. It was warming, comforting and exciting. She watched as Dirgan’s magick at first stopped the bleeding, then knitted the damaged skin on his wrist and then returned the colour to his face. Soon, there was no evidence that he had injured himself at all, save for the blood upon the floor.

“Minor healing.” Dirgan wiped the dagger on a cloth he found nearby and replaced it into its hidden sheath. “Becomes healing. Becomes major healing. When it is used for what it was meant to be used for, it progresses far more quickly and becomes far more powerful than with practice alone. The Mages Guild will never teach you this. The College of Winterhold would have taught you this long ago. I will sponsor you with them if you ever wish to truly learn magick.”

With a tap of his staff on the ground, an orb of light appeared, hovering, dancing before them both. Giving off light and warmth. Another tap and the orb expanded and brightened. Lifting into the air above them, it continued to grow brighter and warmer until the brightness pained Öenthir’s eyes and the heat became uncomfortable. And then it was gone, leaving only bright afterimages in her eyes.

Another tap and a finger of flame appeared, hovering above the palm of Dirgan’s outstretched hand. Tap and the flame grew bigger, more intense, jumping and flickering. Then it was a ball of furious fire. Dirgan ‘threw’ the ball at a training dummy and it became engulfed in flame. Intense, unnatural fire that soon turned the dummy to ash and scorched the surrounding area. As soon as it had appeared, the flame was gone. Dispelled.

Again Dirgan tapped the ground with his staff and a small rain cloud formed before him. Water rained down from the cloud, mixing with the dust and the blood on the floor. Dirgan tapped the staff again (although it was more like a sloshing thud now). The cloud rose upwards, growing, blackening and thickening. A wind began to swirl about them and little flashes of lighting twitched within the cloud. Then the cloud became a storm above their heads, the wind raged, rain poured down in a deluge, the air crackled and, one by one, three practice dummies were each hit by a single lightning bolt and turned to ash. And then it was gone. The cloud, the wind and rain, without warning, were gone.

Dirgan stood, unmoved, dry as a bone. Not a hair out of place and Öenthir realised that she was also untouched by the ravages of the storm. She had seen this all before, but never so close, never so bestial and terrifying. She was shaken and awed, fearful and excited. This was magick! Dirgan chuckled to himself.

“Mage’s light becomes a sun. Protection becomes wall. Flame becomes conflagration. Rain cloud becomes a storm.” He had both hands upon his staff, now, and looked at Öenthir in an almost kind fashion. He reminded her of Loremaster Dukhat in that moment. “Practice will only get you so far. Magicka must be used as it was meant to be used for your abilities to grow. May I?”

Öenthir knew what Dirgan wanted. She had had so many other people do it, at the Mages Guild, that sometimes they didn’t even ask. And it always ended the same way. “Moderate talent”. “Somewhat powerful”. “Never more than above average”. Dirgan wanted to sense her potential.

She nodded, silent, and Dirgan held his hand before her forehead and closed his eyes for a few seconds. After a while, he opened his eyes and stared deep into her own.

“You have a great potential, child. A great potential.” He stepped away, considering her with his intense blue Nord eyes, “You could be a very powerful mage. Very powerful, indeed. If ... if you follow the right path. Be great, or be average, only you can choose that destiny. Come, let us return you to your companions.”

Without waiting for her, Dirgan strode towards the door, to leave the training compound. He had given her much to think about. Much to digest, but, for now, she felt elated. Lifting her skirts, she ran to catch up with the Nord mage.

She didn’t even realise that the headache had subsided a little.

ii. Revna.

Revna wasn’t stupid. Not in the least. However, the things that were being talked about, around a hastily commandeered table in the main hall of the longhouse, were not something she had ever encountered before. She was a simple woman with simple dreams and simple ambitions. She had travelled all over Skyrim, but had never set foot outside the region. She had never had a need or a desire to.

Now she was hearing talk of regions she had only ever heard of in bedtime stories. Talk of distances that she had never even considered before. For her, a trip from home to Riften had been a huge journey. Four days there, four days back. At least. Now she heard these people talking about a journey taking months! If she didn’t already have a headache (thankfully receding, somewhat), she could imagine all this talk would have given her one.

She looked down upon the map spread upon the table and could only think how small Skyrim appeared to be. How tiny the region of Winterhold was. How insignificant Ingrstad was. Had been. Here, upon the map, was the whole of Tamriel with such names as Daggerfall, Vvardenfell and Grahtwood upon it. All regions as big as Skyrim, if not bigger.

She tried to listen as the others discussed the journey ahead. The Jarl, Borgun, and the Redguard, Itagaki, seemed to be the ones with the greatest knowledge and they didn’t appear to be agreeing on the best course of action.

“Time is of the essence, here, Redguard!” Borgun’s booming voice echoing throughout the hall, “Over land, it will take no less than three months. Three months! By sea, it will take half that time!”

“By sea, you would need a fleet of ships to get there.” Itagaki was somewhat more calm than the Jarl, but no less determined, “There are pirates here, off the coast of Solitude. Here, near the border of Rivenspire and Glenumbra and, the worst, Maomer raiders all across the sea from the tip of Glenumbra and all around Auridon.”

“Bah! Pirates, my arse. Scurvy ridden parasites that hardly have the strength to hoist sail!” Borgun threw the stick he was using as a pointer onto the map. “Sail around them, if you must, or kill them. It makes no matter.”

“Perhaps we could sail around the Northern and Eastern pirates adding, say two weeks, at least, to the journey.” There was almost infinite patience in that sing-song clipped Redguard voice, “But the Maomer are not weak and they cannot be sailed around. Not unless you suggest we make a vast, circuitous route to avoid them? Add another month to the sailing time with that, at least.”

“And travelling overland will take you right through the heart of the Three Banners War areas,” Borgun’s finger tapped the map with his thick finger. Right in the centre. Cyrodiil. “Or have you forgotten that you all come from different factions?”

“Why not go part of the way by ship and the rest by horse?” The interruption came from Tilly, sat by herself at another table, feet resting upon the table’s top and a mug of some alcoholic drink in her hand. “Just a suggestion.”

Revna watched Borgun and Itagaki stare at the Dunmer for a second, then they looked at each other and then their eyes darted back to the map, working out the best, shortest route.

She felt like a fifth wheel on a cart. Useless until a spoke gets broken. She considered sitting with Tilly, but the dark elf had made it quite clear that she didn’t like Revna. Which was a pity because Revna enjoyed Tilly’s company. She was funny and Revna had had little opportunity to laugh in her life. Instead, Revna remained at the map table, wishing she had a sword in her hands and enemy to face. That, she understood.

“There might be another way.” The voice of the wood elf, Öenthir, had carried across the hall. She was walking, alongside Dirgan Oakenheart, towards the map covered table, “But I’ll need my luggage to be certain.”

iii. Itagaki.

William had returned swiftly, carrying the simple leather satchel that the Bosmer had been carrying when Itagaki had first seen her. Soon, the map table had been covered in more maps and books. Far more than could be carried in a small satchel of that size.

Magick, she surmised.

For a few minutes the wood elf had been perusing the books, switching from one to the other, studying the maps, returning to the books. She carried on in silence despite the rising impatience of Jarl Borgun. Öenthir looked up, and seemed almost surprised that she was still in company, and pointed to a spot on the map.

“Here.” Everyone looked at where she was pointing on the map. A little town to the West of Riften at the base of the Throat of the World. Ivarstead. “This is how we’ll get there.”

Itagaki was not one for magick. It was too unpredictable. Too easy used for ill. When Öenthir had explained what she was proposing, Itagaki had felt that chill down her spine that she got whenever strange magick was even mentioned.

These ‘Wayshrines’, relics of a time so far back in history that there was no record of who, or what, had created them, were an unknown element. The Bosmer had explained how they had, at one time, been the primary means of travelling Tamriel, perhaps even further. Hundreds of them dotted all across the lands providing a doorway to the whole system. Travelling instantaneously between them.

But the magick of the Wayshrines had waned and weakened until few people even knew what they were, let alone how to use them. Some, powerful, wizards could still use them all. Some people who had had their souls torn from them could, for some reason, also use them. But, for the most part, they had lost their power to move things and had become lost and overgrown.

“There are some Wayshrines that, with a little push, can still send people to any of the other Wayshrines. Very few, but some, and one of them is here, at Ivarstead.” There was silence between them all as they considered this. Öenthir looked like she needed to convince them. “The Mages Guild has recorded some of them and one is definitely there. According to my books.”

“And what is the ‘little push’ you speak of?” Itagaki found herself almost convinced, but needed more. A journey taking months to replace one of the Gems of Unison was too long, without even thinking about finding the other two tombs! But, this was magick and she didn’t trust it. “You must convince us.”

“I don’t have to convince anybody!” It was one of those moments where the Bosmer’s pretensions of being Altmer were thrust to the fore. Officious. Demeaning, even. “It’s either this or you walk all the way to Hew’s Bane. Make a choice. Redguard.”

Itagaki felt self-conscious. For some reason, they were all looking at her for the decision. Perhaps it was because she was the only one that had led people in battle. Perhaps no-one else wanted to make the decision and she had been the only one to question Öenthir’s proposal.

Revna, Itagaki could tell, didn’t quite understand the concept of the Wayshrines. Tilly, still sat apart but ears all a-twitch, didn’t care either way. And the Jarl, the Jarl wanted them on their way as soon as possible. All of these feelings were apparent to her. A part of the binding. The empathic link allowing strong emotions to flow between them.

Thanks to that link, though, Itagaki could tell that Öenthir was certain about her proposal. This told Itagaki much, as the wood elf had shown much uncertainty, fear and trepidation since meeting her. If, with this proposal, she was certain, it meant something.

“All right. We’ll try it your way. If everyone else agrees?” There were nods of agreement from Revna and the Jarl and a shrug of the shoulders from Tilly, which would have to be enough. Itagaki leaned over the map and made some quick calculations. “It will take over a day and a half to reach Ivarstead. We should set off immediately.”

A wave of relief emanated from Jarl Borgun. All of the four companions felt it.

“Good. Good. Excellent.” The Jarl didn’t show his relief, though. He still stood stiff, lord-like. “William will take you to retrieve your weapons and other belongings and I’ll arrange horses, a small stipend of gold each and supplies. May Ysgramor guide your way safely and swiftly.”

Tilly, having finally risen from the seat she had perched upon and smelling of stale mead, leaned over the table, careful to ensure she came into close contact with Itagaki. Refusing to move, Itagaki tried to swallow the rising tide of heat that she now felt whenever Tilly came close, even with that smell of mead clinging to the dark elf.

“Hew’s Bane.” Tilly tapped the map and then looked up at Itagaki. That infuriating, incredible, beautiful smile upon those inviting lips. “I know people from there. They could be useful.”

“Yes.” The word caught in Itagaki’s throat. Her voice thick and tremulous. She coughed and turned away. “Yes. We can probably use all the help we can get.”

Especially, she thought, with you around.

Itagaki was thankful when William ushered them to follow him to where their weapons had been stored. She rushed forward, leaving the dark elf far behind, trying in desperation to reclaim her serenity and to push down the lustful thoughts that were threatening to overwhelm her.

iv. Tilly.

It was a relief when the guard had returned her weapons, even though he had been careful to count out each individual dagger, knife and shiv that he handed over. With each one handed over and noted, she returned them to their respective hidden pockets and sheaths throughout her jacket, trousers and boots. All except “The Sisters”, “Grave’s Friend” and “Bedtime Story”.

Those two, she attached to her belt with affection, one on each hip. They were her favourites. Twin blades of the finest steel, one infused with a magickal, crippling poison that killed with unnatural swiftness, the other infused with a fast acting sleeping draught. She had acquired them some time ago, liberated from their previous owner, and they had rarely left her side since.

As Tilly had waited for the others to return from collecting their remaining belongings from their lodgings, she had stayed and made a swift calculation of the Jarl’s material worth. Rich, but not wealthy, she had concluded. Rich enough to fulfil the promise of them being ‘richly rewarded’, as the Jarl’s pet Imperial had said.

She didn’t care about the Jarl’s woes. Didn’t care, in the slightest, about the imminent death of his daughter, but money ... money she cared about. Hopefully enough to set her up somewhere nice. Maybe Hammerfell? She could follow Itagaki home and continue the seduction? That would be fun.

Thinking of Itagaki and it was as if she had heard. She, along with the twee Bosmer and that walking floor rug of a Khajiit, had returned with the rest of their belongings and now they were all being herded to the Jarl’s personal stables, each to be ‘loaned’ a horse for the journey ahead.

This was the part that Tilly had been dreading. They were each introduced to a horse and everyone else began saddling and attaching bridles and reins, their packs and weapons stowed upon the horses’ backs. Tilly had nothing to stow. Everything she owned, she was wearing or already carrying.

She had also never so much as been near a horse, save for travelling by cart once or twice. She hadn’t the first idea where to start. Infuriatingly, it was the Khajiit that noticed her confusion. Straight away, the cat came over and began preparing Tilly’s horse for the journey.

“It’s alright, little elf, I had trouble with all of this when I first learned to ride.” The cat moved with practised ease handing the reins to Tilly. “Just remember to move with the horse, don’t just sit there or your arse will be sore for days. And be gentle, but firm, with the reins. The horse knows what to do.”

“I’m not ‘little’!” Tilly was damned if she was going to thank the muscular oaf of a cat! “I’m actually quite tall for a Dunmer!”

“I know.” The Khajiit turned away trying to hide that bloody smile of hers.

Tilly watched the others, with care, as they all climbed up on to their horses, and tried her best to copy them. It took a couple of attempts, but she made it into the saddle. She was quick to learn new things, she just hoped the horse was willing to bear with her while she learned.

“Ready?” Itagaki called to them all.

“Aye!” Revna answered, almost with a fervour in her voice. She enjoyed the adventure of it all, it seemed.

The Bosmer, fully behind the whole enterprise now (as the lack of a headache indicated to them all), nodded, stroking the neck of her horse.

“Ready?” This time Itagaki said it direct to Tilly. There was none of the self-consciousness about her now. Now, she was all business. This was her element.

“As I’ll ever be.” Tilly held the reins with shaking hands, settling and resettling herself in the saddle.

Itagaki nodded to the guard by the stable doors, and he obeyed, throwing the doors wide for the bound companions. Each of the other three flicked their reins and gave gentle taps to their horses’ sides with their heels and the horses answered with swift movements.

Tilly held back a second and then copied the others. Flick of the reins, tap of the heels. And they were finally all away. To Ivarstead and, from there, to Hew’s Bane and whatever awaited them there.


	6. Chapter 6

6

i. Revna.

As they left the city behind and the countryside filtered in, biting wind circling the valley held in by the surrounding mountains, Revna breathed deep. It always amazed her how soon the bustle, noise and smell of cities disappeared upon leaving them. As if they had crossed an invisible barrier, giving way to the sights, sounds and essence of the wild.

She preferred it out here. Away from the stares and the mutterings. Here, she was ‘Revna’. In the city, she was ‘the Khajiit’. Apart from Tilly, who still seemed upset that Revna had saved her from a lynching, the others in the group treated her as they would any other. Even though she’d only known them for a short time, she felt welcome among them. She felt normal.

Tilly, of course, didn’t seem to welcome anyone that she wasn’t attracted to. Revna knew there was mutual attraction between Tilly and Itagaki, the bloom of lust that the binding allowed her to share was proof of that, but, apart from that, the empathic link shared nothing else of Tilly’s feelings. If she had any at all. Still, Revna liked her.

It was Revna’s choice to ride behind the others in order to keep an eye on the fledgling riding skills of Tilly. There had been fits and starts, but she seemed to be getting the hang of it quick enough. Being at the back also gave Revna a different perspective. Her eyes and ears tracking everything around them in a constant paranoia.

Outside the confines of the cities, Skyrim, indeed the whole of Tamriel, was a dangerous place. Wild creatures, hidden dangers and, worst of all, men and mer that took advantage of the ill habited areas to rob, kill or enslave unwary travellers. The wild truly was wild.

Revna felt the tip of her tail tingle, a sure fire sign of something amiss. Like a sixth sense.

Maintaining the illusion that she was only riding, she made more careful, unobtrusive observations around her and the rest of the group. It was at this point that Itagaki had slowed her horse down to join Revna at the rear of the group.

“We are being followed.” She appeared relaxed, talking with a travelling companion, leaning forward to stroke the neck of her horse, while hiding a surreptitious loosening of the strange curved swords that she wore, tucked into the sash at her waist. “I did not think we would meet trouble so soon, my friend.”

“Aye.” Revna stretched and yawned. She was a relaxed traveller to anyone watching from a distance. “At least four. Probably more holding further back. Have a care with your voice, the wind carries far up here.”

“If I remember the map correctly, there is a double bend in the path up beyond that copse of trees.” Itagaki didn’t have to point, but Revna looked, in passing, at the copse ahead. “We can make our move there. You hold fast here at the back and I will inform the others.”

Itagaki hastened her horse forward again, with a lazy kick. It was true, Revna had not expected trouble so soon, either. Whoever was following them must have started in Riften, or just outside. It was strange for bandits to be so bold, so close to a city. They were either very confident, or very stupid, or they weren’t bandits at all.

It was the last thought that concerned Revna the most. If they weren’t bandits and if they were following the group, that meant that their mission was already compromised. But, by whom and for what purpose. To steal the Gems of Unison (now split apart and held, one each, by Revna, Itagaki and Öenthir. Tilly not caring whether she held one or not)? Or to stop them saving the life of the Jarl’s daughter?

It was irrelevant for the moment. That they had an enemy was enough and Revna relished the thought of unleashing steel upon a foe. It had been too long since she had held a sword in battle and she almost salivated at the thought of it. Not that anyone could tell from looking at her.

Itagaki had told the others of what was happening, the mage being the only one to show any sign that something was wrong. Her back showed noticeable stiffening. She was held her reins too tight. Revna hoped that their shadows weren’t as observant. She didn’t want the fight to start until everyone was ready. Not that Revna would need the help, but unprepared people get killed more often than prepared ones.

Revna needed them to be prepared, for this would be the first test of how this team could work, or not work, together.

ii. Itagaki.

Itagaki tried to make her return to the side of the others as natural as possible, not wanting to give anything away. She studied both Öenthir and Tilly, wondering whether they were both ready for what may be about to come.

Tilly was an unknown. She carried herself with confidence, that was certain, but she hadn’t shown anything that would indicate her fighting skills either way. Itagaki had seen the plethora of knives and daggers that Tilly had hidden around her, but could Tilly use them when push came to shove?

Öenthir was the problem. She had no confidence in herself or her abilities as a mage. She held herself with the arrogance of a mage, sometimes, mixed with her mimicking of Altmer sensibilities, but these were a facade, as she had shown ever since their detention. Yet, holding her back and out of the way of trouble would do her no good. She would need to find the confidence for the trials ahead and the only way to overcome her fears was to confront them.

“I’m going to tell you both something and I don’t want you to react. Act naturally. Keep looking forward.” Itagaki glanced to her side. Tilly’s demeanour had not changed, but Öenthir stiffened, seeming to know and sense that something was wrong. “Relax, mage! We are being followed. Around the bends ahead, past that copse, we will confront them.”

“Understood.” Tilly was, surprising Itagaki, focused and was remaining calm. “As soon as we’re out of sight, I’ll double back through the trees. Hit them from behind.”

Itagaki nodded, silent. It was a good strategy and the dark elf was already loosening her feet on the stirrups. She was, indeed, a swift learner. The Bosmer, however, was close to panic.

“What do I do? I don’t know what to do!” She was almost in tears and, immediately, the headache from the binding began to return. “I shouldn’t be here!”

“You will not run away, mage!” It was difficult to hiss in anger while trying to appear natural, but Itagaki did it well. “Hold back and watch the horses, if you must, but you will not run!”

“Just cast that protection spell of yours from a distance,” Tilly smiled at Öenthir as if nothing was amiss, “Or set fire to their breeches. You’ll be fine, Wen.”

Itagaki couldn’t tell if there was a genuine attempt at helping the mage in Tilly’s words or some kind of self-preservation, but she was glad of the words as they seemed to help the wood elf.

By now, they were approaching the final bend around the copse. If the people following did, indeed, have hostile intentions, they would speed up a little in order to not lose sight of the party. They would have little time to prepare for action, but they had little choice.

Revna had now ridden to ride side-by-side with them and, as soon as they made the final turn, Tilly had leapt from her saddle and disappeared into the silver barked evergreen trees. She had learnt fast and was as silent as a shadow. Itagaki was impressed.  
“Don’t worry, mage.” Revna whispered to Öenthir, “We may be wrong and they are just fellow travellers on the road. Take the horses and tie them to a tree. The Redguard and I will make like we are setting up camp.”

With that, both Itagaki and Revna dismounted, handing the reins of the horses to Öenthir. Before the mage could take the horses away, though, the Khajiit untied a roll on her horse revealing an array of weapons. From a selection of two great swords and two battle axes, she removed the single edged axe with a hammer on the other side. They were all fine weapons, but Itagaki wondered why Revna didn’t use the mighty great sword she had tied to her back.

With a light slap on the horse’s rump, Revna leant the axe against a tree and began picking up twigs and branches.

She was efficient, this woman of two cultures, Itagaki gave her that. No movement wasted. Only focused attention. For her part, Itagaki started clearing a spot at the edge of the trees, making a circle of stones for the fire they may not even light.

iii. Öenthir.

She had no idea what Revna and Itagaki were up to. They had soon set about preparing, what would look like to their shadows, a camp for the night and here she was, holding the reins of the four horses, looking for a suitable tree to tie them to.

The needles of the conifers were scratchy and caught at the sleeves of her dress, but she managed to tie the horses up. ‘And now what?’ she thought. Should she stay here and continue to appear like she was tending their mounts, or join the other two at the campfire that, she found incredible without the aid of magick, was already lit, her two fellow companions already sat awaiting what was to come.

It was then that the first rider appeared around the bend, then another and another, and then a fourth and fifth. They didn’t look too much different from any other person that she had seen since arriving in Skyrim. They didn’t look the way she expected bandits should.

Perhaps they were only fellow travellers? Sharing the road. Perhaps they would pass by and everything would seem like simple, normal paranoia?

But they stopped. They dismounted and then all drew swords.

“Move along, friends.” Itagaki appeared relaxed, standing with one hand resting on the hilt of the long sword in her sash. Revna had also stood and was now leaning upon the shaft of the heavy axe with both hands. “We have no quarrel with you, nor do we wish bloodshed.”

The bandits, if that was what they were, said nothing and continued approaching. Then, from around the bend, another three appeared, riding with caution. Öenthir could feel, through the binding, the concern rise in her companions. Concern, but no fear.

It began without any delay, without any further warning. The bandit in the lead launched himself forward towards Itagaki, sword raised, not a sound leaving his mouth. With a speed Öenthir had never seen, Itagaki had drawn her thin, curved long sword swinging under the bandit’s arms and slicing clean through his leather armour. It was all one movement and the bandit found himself tripping over his own guts as they spilled from his body.

The other bandits stirred into motion now, each choosing one or the other of Revna and Itagaki to attack. Revna swung her axe upwards from the ground, smashing into one attacker’s sword sending involuntary shivers up their arm, then, with incredible strength, the axe twisted in its swing cleaving downwards into the shoulder of the bandit behind with a sickening sound of bone and muscle giving way to the fine honed edge of Revna’s weapon.

Yanking the axe free (with one hand!), Revna swung her fist into the face of her first attacker, sending him spinning away and crashing into the silver trunk of a tree, collapsing to the floor, his neck broken. Taking the time to spit into her palm, Revna spied her next target, her lips curling back. In a grimace? A smile? Öenthir couldn’t tell which, but Revna’s feline teeth were all on show as she swung her axe once more, smashing one man aside with the hammered side, then turning, once again mid-swing, arcing the bladed side upwards into the groin of her fourth opponent. He fell to the ground, clutching where he once had genitals. For an encore, Revna lifted the axe high then brought it down, hammer side first, onto the head of the man she had smashed aside. Öenthir had never heard a sound like it.

Where Revna’s brutality was in her aggression and strength, Itagaki’s brutality was a very different creature.

After her first incision, she had, with ceremony, swung her blade towards the ground sending blood splattering from it. Then, insanely, she had, with as much ceremony, replaced her blade into its scabbard and stood before her three other opponents as if nothing was wrong. As if she had not almost sliced their fellow in two.

It took the tiniest of a fraction of a second for the three to react, but, as soon as they did, they had signed their own death warrants. As soon as they even began to move towards the Redguard, her blade whistled from its scabbard once more.

It was like a dance. A horrible, brutal, macabre dance.

This wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t a battle and it, for certain, wasn’t fair. It was the most beautiful, horrible slaughter. Precise swings. Pin-point strikes. Gliding, ephemeral movements. And, when Itagaki had finished, the three men lay on the floor. Two without heads, the other without legs.

If Öenthir had blinked, she would never have seen it.

She wished she hadn’t.

iv. Tilly.

Tilly would have preferred traversing the copse of evergreens at a later time, when darkness would have done the lion’s share of the work hiding her. As it was, she still flitted between the trunks as silent as a breath, shifting with practiced speed from tree to tree.

When she reached the other side, she saw as three of the bandits, or shadows, or whatever they were, passed around the bend, leaving a final three here. A reserve in case the leading pack required assistance, leaving the leader and two guards holding back until the fighting had ended.

Regardless, as the first sounds of battle reached them, muted somewhat by the trees between them, the three dismounted. One, in all likelihood the leader, as Tilly had surmised, walked forward a few yards, one of the guards following a slight distance behind. This left one holding the horses and gave Tilly her opening.

With no more noise than a candle flame flickering in a breeze, Tilly slipped out from the trees. Swift, light steps bringing her up behind the bandit, she pulled a knife from her sleeve before standing, grabbing the man’s mouth with one hand, silencing him.

Tilly drove the knife deep into his skull, where neck and head connected, severing his spinal cord and killing him in an instant. With care, she held him, lowered his body to the floor and slipped back into the trees.

Up the path, the leader said something to his guard. Tilly couldn’t catch what they said, but the guard almost ran back to the horses and, upon seeing his dead comrade, turned back towards the leader. This was a mistake.

With a swiftness born of experience, Tilly flew out from the trees again, dagger in hand. Before the guard even knew what was happening, Tilly had dipped downwards, slicing the dagger across the back of one leg, flowing on and slicing the other. The man immediately fell to his knees and could do nothing as Tilly spun around him to his front, bring her dagger around in a swinging arc and carving a trench in his throat, almost decapitating him. His head fell back. His neck now a gaping maw as a fountain of blood sprayed into the air in rapid bursts.

Before the body even began to fall completely to the floor, Tilly was up and running towards the leader, pulling “Bedtime Story” from its sheath at her hip. She reached the leader before he could react, but, instead of killing him, she gave him a mere scratch on his cheek with the tip of her blade.

The leader, almost moving as if caught in mud, finally reacted, turning to catch up with Tilly as she passed by. His hand reached for and pulled out his sword, but it fell from numb fingers. Almost dreamlike, he looked down at his lifeless hand and was about to say something before his eyes rolled in to the back of his head and he fell to the ground, sound asleep.

“Now, what are we going to do with you?” Tilly crouched beside the leader, wiping the blood from her weapons, absentminded, on his clothes. And then she smiled as a wicked thought came to her.

Leading the bandits’ horses, Tilly rounded the bend in the path to see Itagaki and Revna dealing with the aftermath of their battle, piling up dead bodies at the side of the road. Tilly counted eight bodies, meaning even the cat had most like killed more of them than her. That was a score she intended to beat.

“Looks like we’ve all been busy.” She pulled the horses up to the pile of bodies, dumping the two dead bandits from the backs of their horses. The last horse had the leader atop it. Hands and legs tied up, and naked. Tilly slapped him, hard, on the backside. “And this fine fellow is probably this sorry lot’s leader.”

“Why is he naked?” It was a natural question from the Khajiit, but Tilly still gave her an annoyed look.

“Because it wouldn’t be funny if he was dressed!” Of all the reasons she could have given, this was, for certain, the least sane. Tilly moved to the other side of the horse and pushed the leader off. Her hand ‘accidentally’ smashing into his nose as she did. “Besides, when we interrogate him, him being in the buff will be to our advantage because, I don’t know about you, but I have questions.”


	7. Chapter 7

7

i. Itagaki.

Despite the protestations of Öenthir, the group decided to make camp where they were. They placed a blanket, found tied to one of their attackers’ horses, over the bodies, to help assuage her feelings, but it didn’t help. Even sat with her back to the bodies, Öenthir was still uncomfortable and kept looking over her shoulder, as if the dead were about to rise and attack them again.

Itagaki also noticed the looks Öenthir kept making at her. Scared looks. Almost as if the wood elf were more afraid of her than the prospect of undead attackers. She wondered if it was the first time Öenthir had seen a battle? Who was to say, but it saddened Itagaki that the mage would look at her so.

What concerned Itagaki more was the leader of their attackers. Still naked (no-one wanted to even try to dress him again), tied to a nearby tree, he watched the group preparing their meals with clear malice in his eyes.

He hadn’t spoken a word since his capture and Itagaki had already had to dissuade Tilly from leading the interrogation. The way the dark elf looked at the man, while playing with one of her many blades, led Itagaki to think that the Dunmer would be, she wondered, too quick to use them. It didn’t seem to be a tactic to scare the man, or for humorous reasons. It seemed all too genuine.

There was also the question of the tattoo on the man’s chest, a triangle made up of three dragon necks for lines and stars at the triangle tips. Swift investigations showed the dead men all had similar tattoos. Usually the sign of a cult of some kind, but no-one, not even the mage had encountered this sigil before.

“All I’m saying is,” Tilly was now saying, between stuffing herself with mouthfuls of the rabbit stew they had made. “I could have him talking in seconds.”

“Aye, but how much would be left of him when you’re finished?” Revna wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, “We’re not animals, little elf.”

“Says the talking cat.” Tilly intended it as an insult, but Revna took it in good humour. “And I’m not little! I’m taller than Wen!”

“Aye. That you are.” Revna didn’t even try to hide the smile, but continued eating.

None of this was helping. Nor was it getting the man to talk. They needed information before moving on, or any number of things could get in the way before they even reached Hew’s Bane. It was clear the attack was against them and not some random banditry. It was also clear that this leader deferred to someone higher than him. Someone that could make the leader remain silent even with Tilly looming above him with murderous intent in her eyes.

They needed to know what they were up against.

Itagaki stood and took a bowl of stew over to the man. His eyes glued themselves to hers as she approached. The eyes glared hatred, malevolence, even, towards someone he did not even know. Only cults could create this much hatred from nothing.

“Would you like to eat?” She wanted to try persuasion before anything else. She looked at the wound on his cheek. “Are you in any pain?”

He remained in silence, continuing to show that mad grin and emitting such hatred from his eyes that Itagaki almost pulled away. Almost. She was a warrior, though, and he would never know if he disturbed her or not. She would show no emotion to this man. None.

“This tattoo, what does it signify? Who is your master?” Still he remained silent. Only the sounds of the wild stirred the air now, as night creatures awoke to their time of the day. “Wen? Have you had any thoughts about this tattoo?”

“Some.” Öenthir still seemed fearful of her, but, almost immediately, the fearful look became replaced by that same look she had when she had been researching the wayshrines. One of fascination with the unknown. “I don’t know if the dragons signify real dragons or just traits of dragons, but, if you look closely, you can see each dragon is different, as is each of the stars at the three apex points of the triangle. That could mean three different masters, or three different aspects of one master.”

“You know nothing of what you speak, child.” If Itagaki had been anyone else, she would have stepped back from the unexpected outburst from the man. He didn’t shout. Didn’t hiss it or say it any other way, but as matter of fact. “You know nothing of my Lord, or of what He wants. He is beyond you.”

“So, you do have a master and he does want something. You have started talking now, you might as well continue.” Itagaki knew that telling him this would prick the man’s pride. He had done so well, keeping all his secrets, only to proclaim the greatness of his master, except information gained from the littlest of things often proved the most valuable.

“I have told you nothing!” Now, he was angry, almost spitting out the words. “My master would have destroyed me immediately if I had!”

“Then, your master is very powerful if he can destroy you from a distance.” She continued pushing, “And, if he would know if you had said anything, he must be able to ‘hear’ you, somehow. Then, your master is a powerful mage, or one of the Princes? This is all very valuable information. Please, continue.”

“I did not say that he was a mage!” The man was beginning to panic, now, unsure of how he had given up so much detail. Then he began to shout at the night, not at Itagaki. “I did not say anything!”

It was almost amusing how easy it was to manipulate him, but now Itagaki felt concern. From being completely in control, saying nothing and giving nothing but hatred, the man had now become twitchy and quite terrified. His demeanour changed as fast as a flipped coin.

“Redguard? Itagaki!” It was Öenthir. She had stood up, now, her face a picture of fear and concern. “Step away from him! Step away! Now!”

Itagaki didn’t need telling twice. She had learnt, very early in her life, to act at the slightest notice and the certainty in Öenthir’s voice made her act now. With haste, she stepped back several feet away from the man.

A wind had erupted from nowhere, whipping the branches of the trees, almost blowing out the flames of the fire and picking at their hair and clothes. Shielding her eyes with her hand, Itagaki saw their captive struggling with a madman’s strength against his bonds, cutting into his wrists and chest, drawing blood. And there, on his chest, the tattoo was burning, like a fresh brand on a horse. At first it was only the tattoo that burned, but soon the fire burned down into his chest and, soon the entirety of the man was in flames.

From the corner of her eye, Itagaki saw similar flames coming from the pile of dead bodies beneath the blanket beyond the campsite. All of their attackers, living and dead, were burning away from the inside until only ash and charred bones remained of the man.

And then the wind was gone and the natural night sounds returned.

“Sotha Sil’s metal balls!” Itagaki, her composure returned, looked over at Tilly’s outburst. “I hadn’t even looted their bodies yet!”

ii. Öenthir.

Even though Tilly’s outburst had lightened the mood, if only a slight, the party were still shocked at what had happened. No-one knew quite what to do as the evening breeze began picking at the ash that was all that remained of their attackers’ leader. That and the blackened, cracked bones.

Öenthir couldn’t speak. She’d been around powerful magick before, in demonstrations at the Mages Guild and, earlier that day, when Dirgan had shown her how powerful her little quintet of spells could become, but this was a kind of power beyond anything she could have imagined. The kind of power she had only ever read about.

“He ... they did that on purpose.” She mumbled, to herself in the main, but the others all heard her. She noticed their looks and continued. “Usually, a mage contains their magick. The spell does what it does and you could never know who cast the spell if you didn’t see them cast it. Sometimes, a mage will allow the magicka to, I don’t know, spread? Other mages will feel the magicka in the air. To show off, mostly, or for students, like me, to better understand the forces we work with.”

“So, this mage, wanted us to feel his power?” Itagaki pointed at the bones of their former attacker, “I saw, but I did not feel anything but the heat of the flames.”

“No, he wanted me to feel his power.” They could all see, in the light of the flames from the campfire, the glistening of tears on Öenthir’s face, “He wanted to show me how small I was compared to him. How weak. Like a troll beating its chest to show its strength. He knows I know some magick and wanted me to know that I’m nothing.”

“He will not harm you, mage. We will not allow it.” Revna pulled Öenthir into her muscular arms, her fur soft on Öenthir’s face. Strong. Comforting. “I will not allow it.”

They stayed like that for a few moments. Öenthir’s sobs muffled by Revna’s body and fur. Soon, she gathered herself together and, without appearing unthankful, pulled away from the big Khajiit, wiping her eyes with dainty fingers. Revna held her shoulders for a little longer, looking into Öenthir’s eyes and then, with a sweet smile, wiped her cheek, with a gentle hand.

Öenthir smiled back. Revna was a complicated woman. She had much pain in her past, fought like a demon and seemed to relish it, yet there was such kindness in those black Khajiit eyes that you would think she was a priest of the most benign of the Divines.

“We should get some sleep,” Itagaki was putting more wood on the fire. She seemed uncomfortable around emotion, that much Öenthir had noticed. “We have much to do in the morning. Far to travel.”

“Aye.” Revna seemed in no hurry to leave Öenthir’s side. Like a great, black guardian. Immovable. “I’ll take first watch.”

All but Revna soon laid down beside the campfire, wrapping their blankets tight around themselves as the night’s cold air began to pinch. Tilly was asleep almost as soon as she laid her head on her folded grey coat. Itagaki closed her eyes, but Öenthir could tell that the Redguard would be wide awake in less than a second if she needed to be. Revna sat by the fire, whittling at a piece of wood, seeming relaxed, but her eyes and ears never stopped moving. Taking in every sight and sound around them.

Öenthir closed her eyes and tried to sleep, despite the bitter cold. She hoped she didn’t dream, but she did. Of a great three-headed dragon breathing fire and ice and poison gas. Of unending hordes of men and mer, of things of metal and flame and lightning, and of foul creatures that once had lived but now moved in death.

And she dreamed of herself, older, colder. Rising above the lands of Tamriel, arms outstretched with golden fire in one hand, sparking lightning in the other and a great darkness around her spreading out like a cruel blanket over the world. Knowing that she would bring peace to that world. Or end it.

And, on her forehead, she wore a circlet of gold and silver with three shining gems inset in the shape of a triangle.

iii. Revna.

The night had drawn in with some speed and a bitter wind had picked up that even made Revna feel a chill. She didn’t mind, though. In Skyrim, if it was warm, people would wonder what disaster was about to befall them, even here in the most temperate area of Skyrim known as the Rift.

Revna added more wood to the fire after tamping it down with a stout stick and then returned to the whittling she had started on a piece of wood. She didn’t feel the cold as much as the others would, but even the slightest heat would make their night a bit more tolerable, she hoped.

The mage, Öenthir, was not doing well in her sleep. Tossing and turning and letting out the occasional fear-filled moan. Much had happened, that day, that the mage had most like never encountered before. It was certain the earlier skirmish and subsequent magickal shenanigans had disturbed her. Revna had already returned the girl’s blanket twice after she had kicked it off.

With a start, Öenthir’s eyes shot open and she looked around, frantic eyes trying to work out where she was. Then those eyes settled on Revna and she seemed to calm down. Clutching the blanket tight around her shoulders, she stood and came to sit beside Revna.

“I had a nightmare.” It was a quiet, matter-of-fact statement.

“Aye. I was much the same after seeing my first battle.” Revna blew some stray shavings from the piece of wood and held it up to the flames to see how it was coming along. “They go away eventually.”

“I hope so.” The mage shivered and tried to pull the blanket tighter, “What are you carving?”

“A raven.” Revna passed the piece of wood to the mage for her to see, “It’s what my name means, because my fur is as black as a raven’s feathers.”

The mage conjured up her Mage Light orb, not too bright, to examine the carving. Revna felt self conscious about it, but didn’t show it as Öenthir turned the carving over and around several times before dispelling the orb.

“It’s beautiful.” The mage passed the carving back to Revna and her hand disappeared back into the folds of the blanket. “You have a lot of talent. How did you learn to carve so well? Is it natural or were you taught?”

“A bit of both, I’d say.” Revna didn’t like talking about herself, usually, but she felt at ease with the mage. Even then, she focused on tidying up features on the carving as she spoke. “My grandfather, well, my Hearth-Mother’s father, he was a carpenter. I was always trying to get him to like me and he was always pushing me out of his shop. He didn’t think of me as his granddaughter at all. I was a stray.”

“That’s awful!” The mage laid a comforting hand on Revna’s arm.

“Well, that’s just how everybody felt. Except my mothers.” Revna stopped whittling and looked up at the cloudless sky, memories flooding back, and she smiled. “One day, while he was out of his shop, I sneaked in and used his tools. I found a piece of wood and started carving a sword. I was nearly done when he came back and caught me.”

“Oh! Don’t tell me if it’s horrible!” The mages hand clutched Revna’s arm tighter, “I couldn’t bear it.”

“At first, he was furious! That was his last piece of that kind of wood and he needed it for something important.” Revna chuckled and shook her head at the memories, “But, then he looked at what I’d made. A good long look. Turned it over several times, smoothed his hand against it. Then he tossed it back at me and told me, all grumpy, to come back the next day and he’d show me how to do it right.”

Revna looked at Öenthir then, a tear in her eye but a smile on her face.

“And that’s when he became ‘Grampa’ to me.” She wiped the tear from her eye, “That’s when he accepted me.”

The mage hooked her arms around Revna’s muscular arm and rested her head against Revna’s shoulder, cuddling her with affection. The fire crackled as they both sat silent for a few moments. Revna had rarely opened up to anybody before and she thought the mage could tell.

“I accept you.” Öenthir squeezed Revna’s arm.

“Aye, well, you should try to sleep.” Revna patted Öenthir’s hand, “Tomorrow is going to be a long day. For all of us, I reckon.”

Öenthir said nothing more, only standing, taking a little more warmth from the fire before settling down. She was about to walk back to where she had been sleeping, but stopped, turned and kissed Revna on her forehead, smiling. Then she returned to her place, gripping the blanket tight around her. Soon, her breathing shallowed and she seemed to be fast asleep.

“Your watch, Redguard.” Revna had waited until she was certain the mage was asleep before almost silent, little more than whispering, calling the Redguard.

Itagaki’s eyes snapped open, immediately awake and alert, giving the area a quick, but intense, scan. Certain that everything was all right, she picked up her two swords, inserting them with almost reverence into her sash in exact positions. She nodded at Revna that she was ready to take the watch.

“Sleep well. Nord.” Itagaki winked at Revna and they shared wry smiles before Revna settled down on her bedroll, not bothering with a blanket.

iv. Tilly.

Tilly hadn’t liked it when Itagaki had woken her up before the sun had even risen, and liked it even less when the Redguard had gone straight to sleep leaving Tilly alone to continue the watch. Even after a bit of teasing and Tilly’s best seduction techniques, Itagaki had turned away and was asleep in seconds.

Dibella’s silky knickers, she was hard work!

Sitting around doing nothing was against everything Tilly believed in. She liked to be active, always on the move, never tying herself down to one thing or one person. Having to keep a look out while everyone slept was torture for her.

To keep herself occupied, she spent some time going through the packs on the horses their attackers had so thoughtfully left behind upon their untimely deaths. There was nothing of real consequence, but they could find buyers for everything, along with the horses themselves.

After that, she pottered around the camp, sat down, threw stones at the charred skull of the leader of their attackers, tried building a little model house from sticks (it kept collapsing) and so on and so on.

She almost hugged the Khajiit when she woke up as the sun began its ascent into the sky. She didn’t. Because it was the Khajiit. The big furry oaf was soon followed into wakefulness by Itagaki and, at last, by Wen and the camp was active again.

“You let the fire go out.” Itagaki was tidying away her bedroll, pulling the straps as tight as she could.

“I was busy.” Was the only thing she could think of to say. Keeping the fire going hadn’t even crossed her mind. Only minutes before, she had pulled her long, grey, worn and battered nobleman’s coat tighter and blown hot air onto her hands. “I’ve had a look over those horses. We should be able to get a few hundred gold for them and, maybe, another hundred for the pack contents.”

“A few hundred each?” Öenthir asked, she had been getting dressed into yet another riding dress that had appeared from inside her magickal satchel. This one was blue with delicate purple flowers embroidered on it. “Aren’t horses worth more than that?”

“A few hundred for the lot.” Tilly laughed at the innocence of the mage, “We have eight horses to sell, with packs, but no riders and, for certain, no papers of ownership. We won’t be selling them to a proper stable. They’d think we were dodgy”

“Who can you sell them to, then, if it’s so ‘dodgy’?” Wen was bristling at the thought of others thinking her as foolish and had reverted to her pompous mode of talking.

“Well, that’s something I wanted to ask about.” Tilly squatted beside the mage, “Will all of us and all the horses get through this ‘wayshrine’ thing?”

“I don’t see why not. It’s not the number of things that go through, but actually powering it up that’s the problem.” The mage had got that look on her face, now, the one where she was about to start talking a lot about things Tilly couldn’t be bothered to understand. “I remember ...”

“Good! Great!” Tilly slapped her knees and stood up, cutting Öenthir off in mid-flow, “I think someone I once knew well is in Hew’s Bane. I’m sure they’ll take it all off our hands at a fair price. More or less.”

“Would this friend of yours be able to acquire things, also?” Itagaki had finished saddling her horse and tying her bedroll and packs on to it.

“I’m actually pretty certain she can.” Tilly so wanted to impress the Redguard, but, this time, she wasn’t exaggerating about her friend. Only a little about how friendly they were, but not about what her friend could do. “Why? What do you need?”

“Revna will need armour more suited for where we’re going, can your friend get that? In Revna’s size?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“What’s wrong with my armour?” The Khajiit brushed her hand on her breastplate, almost as if she was reassuring it. It was a fine set of armour, Tilly had to admit. Intricate Nord carvings covered every part of the metal pieces and the blood red under-armour padding was equally well made.

“Nothing. It is fine armour.” Itagaki smiled at the hard-done-by expression on the Khajiit’s face and Tilly felt a pang of jealousy at the connection the two warriors seemed to be developing, “But, for where we are going, you will need something far lighter.”

“If you say so.” Revna seemed to be a little upset, as if they had, somehow, insulted her armour. Actually, she seemed more than upset, but a little afraid.

“And what’s wrong with you, Khajiit? Got a fur ball?” Tilly teased, with a little more spite than needed.

“No, it’s just ... I just fully realised where we’re going. I’ve never been outside of Skyrim before.” The big Khajiit seemed genuinely concerned and afraid, something Tilly could never have imagined of her until now. “What will they think of me there. I’ll be even more of an outsider than here.”

Tilly blinked and then laughed. Her laugh was a raucous laugh. An uninhibited and loud laugh, much like Tilly herself. And it went on and on and the more she laughed, the more confused the Khajiit became. The others knew why she was laughing, but didn’t join in. Soon, her laughing subsided and she patted Revna on the shoulder.

“My dear walking carpet,” For the first time since meeting the Khajiit, Tilly felt like she could really end up liking Revna, “You are going to love Hew’s Bane. I mean, seriously, profoundly love it. If we survive it, that is.”


	8. Chapter 8

8

i. Öenthir.

After breaking camp, the party made good progress through the Rift. The path was, it surprised her to see, well maintained in most places with only the occasional bit of rough going. The landscape changed often. From sparse woodland, to far-reaching farmer’s fields, to riverside, to lakes. The path meandering a lazy course through the land.

They encountered few other people on the road and none had bothered to exchange pleasantries further than a non-committal tug of their hats or a mumbled ‘Morning”. Öenthir supposed that the party gave a strange impression to the usually loud Nords. Or, she considered, the Nords in Riften had been the exceptions to the rule. Or even that the city brought out the raucousness of the Nords.

Between the party, themselves, there was little conversation beyond the occasional times Revna pointed out things that were almost unique to Skyrim. The mammoths, whose mournful calls would drift with the wind. The shaggy giants that stomped by, keeping to themselves, were avoided with care, as were the sabre cats.

Before they were about to stop for a rest and to eat, dark clouds rolled in from the mountains of the ‘Throat of the world’, appearing far less distant with each step. A peculiarity for this part of Skyrim, the rain moved in fast and began to pour down in great scything slashes.

There was nowhere to find cover here and Revna said the rain could last anywhere from a few minutes to days, so they pressed on feeling more and more miserable as the rain seeped through all their clothing, dripping from noses and ears.

By late afternoon, Öenthir was feeling thoroughly fed up. She was cold and wet. Her hair was an atrocious mess and she didn’t even want to think how the rain was affecting her suede riding dress or the beautiful Bosmer riding boots her parents had bought her so long ago, it seemed.

After some time, the rain began to soften and diminish and they could finally see the lights of civilisation in the distance. Spurred on by the possibility of a warm and, more important, dry place to rest for the night, the party kicked their horses to go faster, tugging their attackers horses along with them.

Upon reaching Ivarstead, Öenthir found herself a little disappointed. It was little more than a village, but it had an inn and a stable for the horses where the stablemaster raised a knowing eyebrow at a group of four with twelve horses, but a handful of gold put paid to any unwanted questions.

Yngvid, the innkeeper of the Pilgrim’s Rest was welcoming and friendly to the travellers but was sad to inform them that he only had two rooms available. Itagaki immediately chose to room with Revna, avoiding the enquiring eyes of Tilly who quickly turned her attention to Öenthir.

“Looks like it’s you and me, then, Wen.” The Dunmer threw an overly-friendly arm around Öenthir’s shoulders, “But don’t get any funny ideas. I’m not that kind of girl.”

The day had been long and tiring and they all decided to forego the food on offer, even though it smelled quite delightful, and go straight to their rooms. Öenthir struggled to have the energy to get undressed and sank, thankful, under the covers on the bed. Even the itching from rough woollen blankets couldn’t irritate her skin enough to stop her falling asleep in seconds.

She found herself dragged from her dreams, happy they weren’t nightmares this time, by the bright Winter sun coursing through the small windows tucked beneath the roof. Tilly had already risen and was nowhere in sight. Öenthir’s riding clothes from the day before, that she had hung up beside the room’s small fireplace, had dried, so she folded them with care, returned them to their place in her satchel and pulled out another set of clothes. These were a little more practical, leather breeches, fine cotton blouse and a riding jacket made from a thicker cotton weave, as decorated and adorned with colourful stitchings and beads as any of her other clothes.

She made her way downstairs to find the others sat around a table, stuffing food into their mouths with hungry abandon.

“Wen!” Tilly called with a mouthful of food, “You have got to try this pie! The best pie I’ve ever tasted and I mean ever!”

The others made more polite agreements, covering their mouths as they assented that it was, indeed, a good pie and Yngvid, the innkeeper appeared to be both pleased and proud that his fayre had received such positive reviews.

When she sat down and the food placed in front of her, she took a dainty spoon to the pie, tasted it and almost swooned. They were so right. It was a delight! She was soon devouring the rest of it with almost as much gusto as the others, but, as she was like to do, with at least a modicum of decorum.

“Right,” No sooner had Itagaki finished her food, than she was on to the business at hand, “Mage, do you have the map? Perhaps our good host here may know what we are looking for.”

Öenthir, despite feeling Itagaki’s sense of urgency, finished eating in her own time and wiped her mouth with a kerchief before reaching into her satchel, rummaging around and finally pulling out the map Itagaki had spoken of. They moved everything out of the way and spread the map on the table, Itagaki pointing at where the wayshrine should be.

“We are looking for a wayshrine,” Itagaki looked up at Yngvid as he leant over to look at the map, “It should be around here.”

“Oh, aye.” Yngvid tapped at the same point Itagaki had indicated, “That’s Old Gummer Hogvor’s land, that is, but I ain’t ever seen no ‘wayshrine’, though.”

“It would look something like this,” Öenthir had also retrieved a book from her satchel and had flipped to a page, showing it to the innkeeper.

“Oh! That!” Yngvid brightened as he understood what they meant, “But that ain’t no ‘wayshrine’. That’s where Old Gummer keeps her pigs.”

ii. Tilly.

It was, without a doubt, a pig sty.

The wayshrine, which must once have been a fine structure, with sweeping Nordic dragon heads on each corner of the roof and made from a mixture of stout oak and and blue quarry-stone, had seen better days. Now it was disheveled, overgrown with weeds, mosses and fungi, the wood rotting in places and the stones chipped and broken. The actual shrine, in the middle of the structure looked much older than its surrounding housing and was in a similar bad shape, with both the metal bowl and the plinth it stood on showing great signs of wear and tear.

A makeshift wooden fence, made from various different woods also varying in lengths and thicknesses, circled the wayshrine and, within the enclosure, pigs waddled and snuffled and soaked themselves in the mud.

No sooner had the party arrived, with their excess of horses, than an old, bent backed woman had appeared. Spritely for her age, she had positioned herself between the party and the wayshrine.

“Bugger off!” Were the first words out of her mouth and she waved a gnarled walking stick with menacing intent at the group. “Ye’ll not be stealing my pigs!”

“Good woman, we do not want your pigs,” Itagaki had dismounted and walked forward, holding her hands in a non-threatening manner, her chestnut hair, for the first time since Tilly had met her, was loose and fell in a fetching fashion over her shoulders. “We merely wish to make use of the wayshrine.”

“What say?” Gummer Hogvor dipped her head to listen with more care, “What’s a ‘wayshrine’ when it’s at home? You stay away from my pigs!”

“Oh, for Tribunes’ sake!” Tilly had neither the patience or the inclination to deal with the obstreperous woman, “We don’t want your bloody pigs, you daft old goat!”

“Tilly!” Öenthir’s shocked face showed Tilly that none of the others had the slightest idea how to handle the old woman, but Tilly did. People like this were the same all over Tamriel. Morrowind, Cyrodiil, Skyrim. All the same. Stubborn, feisty and quick to play on the prejudices and stereotypes that age brought with it.

“It’s alright. I’ll handle her, you just do whatever it is you need to do.” Tilly dropped down from her horse and pulled a coin purse from her pocket, shaking it so that the tell-tale chink, chink, chink could be heard. Gummer Hogvor’s eyes lit up at the sound and she licked her lips in anticipation. “Now, you old bugger, what will it take to let us use this crap covered pig sty of yours?”

The old woman was like a dog on a leash, allowing herself to be pulled by the gentle promise of a golden reward, as Tilly walked a short distance away from her companions and the wayshrine. Pulling out a fat gold coin, she twirled it in her fingers, holding the old woman’s gaze. Over the woman’s shoulder, Tilly could see the others dismounting and Öenthir walking to the wayshrine, holding something that glowed in her hands.

“Well, y’see, them pigs is prize pigs. Worth a lot to a poor old woman, like meself.” Gummer Hogvor reached out a liver-spotted hand towards the coin.

“I told you, you deaf old coot, we don’t want your pigs.” There was something happening at the wayshrine. First, the glow that had been in the mage’s hands dropped into the bowl and had begun to dim, then, Tilly supposed, Öenthir had been casting a spell, the glow became brighter and brighter and then became a bright blue bowl of flames. “Here. This’ll be enough and more than you deserve.”

Tilly flipped the coin into the air, forcing old Gummer to scrabble the air for it. The coin landed on the rain soaked ground and Gummer fell to her knees to pick up what was, for certain, more money than she’d earn in a year.

By this time, Revna had started waving at Tilly to hurry up and rejoin the group.

The wayshrine was now completely aglow, the pigs around it scattering at the strangeness going on in their sty.

“Follow me and stay close.” Öenthir caught the eyes of everybody, trying to convey how serious she was. “Don’t wander off. Keep walking. Don’t stop and, whatever you do, don’t be sick on me when you get to the other side.”

Then, the mage walked into the glow emanating from the wayshrine, leading her horse, and vanished, horse and all. Itagaki didn’t hesitate. Leading her horse and four of their ‘spares’, she walked forward and she, too, vanished.

Revna hesitated and gave a nervous look towards Tilly. Not knowing what to say, or what, exactly, was happening herself, Tilly shrugged. Revna took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and walked forward, her horse and her share of the other horses pulled along with her.

With Revna now gone, Tilly became the last to follow. She didn’t know if they were going to get to Hew’s Bane or if they were all going to die horrible deaths. Still, she thought, it can’t be worse than here.

She tugged at her horse’s reins and grinned as she walked forward into the wayshrine’s glowing aura.

iii. Itagaki.

Blinded by the sudden, searing sunlight, Itagaki couldn’t see where she was evacuating her stomach contents. All she knew was that her head was swimming in circles, her muscles were shaking and she was desperate for some water.

She could hear the horses whinnying in distress and her companions seemed to be as nauseated as her. Spitting, she caught the first glimpses of her eyesight returning and turned her head to see if everybody had come through unscathed.

Revna had fallen to one knee, resting one hand on the knee and the other clutching her stomach. She couldn’t tell if it was a trick of the light, but Itagaki could swear even Revna’s fur seemed to have blanched a little.

Öenthir, looking sickly, didn’t seem to be as affected. She stood, with a comforting hand on Revna’s shoulder, encouraging her that she would soon feel better.

Tilly had bent herself over, hands on her knees, shining white hair like a veil covering her face.

“Kenarthi’s farts!” The nausea didn’t stop the dark elf from talking. Did anything? “I think I’ve thrown up all my insides!”

Itagaki’s stomach turned again. Gathering up her hair with one hand, she looked back at the ground, ready to let loose more vomit but, thankfully, it didn’t come. It gave her an opportunity to see the ground however, and it made her heart swell.

Sand.

They were on a slight, rocky outcrop of a hill and, down the hill and beyond there was more sand. Yes, it was more stony than home. More jutting outcrops in curious shapes from centuries of erosion, fewer dunes, but sand. Hot, caramel coloured sand just like home. Just like the Alik’r desert.

She stepped away from where she had left the contents of her stomach and crouched down. Taking a handful of sand, she held it up to her nose and inhaled a deep, long breath. It was wonderful! Then she let it fall through her fingers, the roughness of the grains flowing down like a waterfall of tiny, miniature stones.

“Are you sure we’re at the right place?” Revna had joined Itagaki to look over the vista before them. She still clutched her stomach and Itagaki could see in the Khajiit’s eyes that she was still not feeling at all well. “There’s nothing here.”

Standing, Itagaki put a hand on the big Khajiit’s shoulder and, with care, turned her around to face the other direction.

“Oh.” Was all Revna could say, in a muted, almost awed whisper.

The great walls of Abah’s Landing were almost half a mile away, but still they towered above the landscape, looming at them, yet seeming to shine in the sunlight. The walls hugged the contours of the land, rising and falling and stretching from high hills in the north and curving off way to the south. Itagaki estimated the wall at about fifty feet in height, looking even higher in some sections.

A huge opening, a gate she expected, was roughly in line with them, here at the wayshrine, and many dozens of people were milling around, moving in and out the city. Dwarfed by the enormous wall.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful, it’s ... it’s ...” Revna gestured at the entire massive structure in one sweep of her arm, “... too bloody hot! Shor’s Bones, it’s hot!”

“I did try to warn you.” Itagaki laughed and patted Revna on the arm, “This is mild compared to my home.”

“You must be joking!” Revna’s disbelief made Itagaki chuckle even more, it was such an honest reaction from the woman who had only ever experienced the cold and snow and ice. “How can anyone live somewhere hotter than this? It’s madness!”

“As you had only ever known the chill of Skyrim, I had only ever known the heat of the desert until I left it.” They both began to walk back to the wayshrine, Tilly, Öenthir and the horses. “You’ll get used to it, eventually.”

“I don’t think I will.” Revna wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Or want to.”

Back at the wayshrine, Tilly had recovered enough to inspect the horses, a look of concern on her face. She had soon become accustomed to the big animals, showing none of the fear or awkwardness she had had with them not even a day past.

“This doesn’t look good.” The Dunmer rubbed a hand on the neck of the horse she had been riding. “We’ll not get anywhere near as much gold as I thought with the horses like this.”

“They’ll be fine. Passing through the wayshrine is just a bit of a shock to them, is all.” Öenthir, like Tilly with the horses, was inspecting the wayshrine, holding her hand up, testing the magicka around the structure. “But this, this is encouraging.”

Itagaki looked at the wayshrine. A completely different outer structure from the one in the Rift, this one seemed constructed from stone with burnt pottery tiles, in various shades, about its outer surface and a golden coloured minaret atop it. The inner bowl and plinth were similar to the one at old Gummer’s farm, but remained in better condition, decorated and painted. And, in the bowl, a faint, almost indistinct blue flame flickered and flared.

“What is encouraging?” Itagaki stood beside the mage as she continued tracing the magicka of the wayshrine with her open hands.

“Someone else has used this wayshrine fairly recently. It’s given the magicka of the wayshrine a kind of boost.” Öenthir seemed like she had realised she had been talking, caught herself, and looked at Itagaki. “We would have had to ride for days, miles and miles to find another to travel from after we replace the first gem. Now, if we don’t take too long, we should be able to use this one again.”

“That is encouraging. I just worry who else could be using the wayshrine when you said so few people know about them anymore.” Itagaki’s eyes narrowed as she made a swift, thorough, scan of the area around them. “We have already been attacked once.”

“There’s no way to tell.” Öenthir followed Itagaki’s lead and looked around, too. “It could just be a coincidence.”

“Could be.” She mumbled to herself, but they all heard her and they all were thinking the same thing.

What if their enemy, the powerful mage that had burnt their attackers to ash with a thought from a distance, knew where they were? What if he had come for them himself? Could they survive him if he had?

iv. Revna.

It was too different. Much more different than Revna had ever imagined it could be. Yes, Itagaki had warned her about the heat, but this? This was a different world and Revna didn’t care for it at all.

She sat on the step of the wayshrine, trying to catch her breath in the thick heat, and gazed out at the arid landscape of Hew’s Bane, with its wind carved stone, sand and dry, brittle grasses and bushes. A flightless bird ran by, a little way off, its long legs covering the ground with great speed and with its trill, whistling call trailing it. It was like no other bird she had seen.

A man, in a loose, white turban and long, shift-like clothing herded a pack of goats below the hill the wayshrine rested on. Revna could see his brown skin, weathered and aged prematurely by the sun. The goats, with tinkling bells attached to their necks, meandered a lethargic path.

Goats, Revna thought, much like the ones at home, but thinner. Their coats shorter and less coarse and their horns smaller, straighter, sweeping backwards from their heads.

She didn’t want to even look at the massive edifice that was the wall of Abah’s Landing. She thought the wall around Windhelm was big, but it was nothing compared to the sand coloured, smooth walls of this desert city.

No sooner had Tilly recovered enough from the shock of travelling via the wayshrine, than she was away. Moving towards the city with the purpose of finding her friend. How she expected to find them in that city, Revna didn’t know. There were dozens and dozens of people moving in and out of the large open gates, that Revna could see. How many more were already inside the city? It looked to be so big and sprawling, with overflows of tents and awnings lining the outside of the walls, it would, she thought, be impossible to find one person, let alone for someone who admitted they had never been to Hew’s Bane before, but Tilly was insistent that she’d find her friend in no time at all.

Itagaki had settled down to wait, squatting on her haunches in full view of the searing hot sun, the occasional look up at the sky, squinting one eye and smiling. For the most part, she tended to her swords. The long sword was first, its long, thin, single-edged blade, curving and tapering to a sharp point, was inspected closely. The Redguard swept a whetstone along the edge that didn’t seem to need it and, when Itagaki felt satisfied, she oiled and polished it with care. Next it was the turn of the short sword and then the knife that Revna had seen tucked into the back of Itagaki’s sash. All were almost exactly the same, except in different lengths.

“Do those blades have names?” Revna found herself fascinated by the weapons, “Fine swords, such as those, should have fine names. Strong names.”

Itagaki considered this. She picked up the long sword, now returned to its black, lacquered wooden scabbard, and held it upright, planting the tip of the scabbard in the sand.

“This is called The Sword.” She picked up the shorter sword with her other hand and held it the same way as she held the long sword. “And this is called The Companion. My father made them for me, and the knife. A normal Redguard sword is too heavy, these were made to match my speed and agility. Or so my father said.”

“Aye. I saw that speed and agility,” Revna remembered the Redguard’s skills in the skirmish with their attackers. It was a wonder to behold. “But, forgive me, those aren’t really names for your weapons.”

“No. Leki taught us that the sword is only an extension of ourselves. We are the sword, the sword is us. Naming our weapons would separate us, spiritually.” Revna mused over this and Itagaki nodded towards the great sword still strapped to Revna’s back. “And what of that beast? You wear it constantly but chose another weapon for our battle.”

Revna untied the great sword and brought it to her front. It had no scabbard, but the blade was no worse for it. The sword was of the very finest construction, the blade had darkened with age, but remained as sharp as the day it had left the forge. Feint wisps of cold white glistened in the sheen and Nord carvings, knots and dragons, began in the centre, half way up the blade and up to the plain, but well worked hilt. The strappings on the grip were of good strong leather, worn with age, and the pommel was a stylised dragon’s head.

“This is Jotnbann, ‘Giant’s Bane’.” Revna laid it across her knees and smoothed a loving hand down the blade. “It was my Shield-Mother’s and her mother’s before her, it was the blade of her grandfather and his father and further still. It is ancient and revered. Given to me when ... I ... I am not worthy to wield it.”

“Not worthy? It is your legacy!” Itagaki gazed at Revna, frowning, trying to catch the Khajiit’s eye. “And, if you will not use such a fine weapon, what will you do with it? Carry it around like a child on your back? Let it fall into disrepair and be forgotten?”

“No. I ...” Revna did not expect such a reaction from the Redguard who was fast becoming a friend. It was in friendship that she spoke with so ferocious a tone, Revna hoped. “I’ve been meaning to return it to my Shield-Mother’s hands, where she lays, in her tomb, but it isn’t easy to return just yet.”

“It is a waste! The sword is yours! Use it! Make it a part of you!” Itagaki stood up, thrusting her own swords into her sash and turned to walk away, “Or throw it away and let it and the memory of your family fall into history.”

Itagaki strode away, to the other side of the wayshrine where they had tethered the horses together, and began tugging at the straps on her horse. Making sure it was ready to ride as soon as needed. On the way, she had swept past Öenthir who had been reading one of her many books, but had been keeping a sneaky ear on the conversation.

“You know that sword’s enchanted?” It was completely from the left of the battleground that Öenthir spoke and Revna turned an incredulous look over to the Bosmer. “It needs charging, but, yes, definitely enchanted.”

Revna looked down upon Jotnbann and wondered. Neither of her mothers had ever mentioned an enchantment.


	9. Chapter 9

9

i. Tilly.

Tilly returned, after a couple of hours and had brought a curious companion along with her. The others rose to meet them, each of them trying to hide their scrutiny of Tilly’s friend.

“This is Finds-Things-Not-Lost.” Tilly acted as if she was showing off her friend, instead of introducing her, “I told you I’d find her if she was here.”

Finds-Things-Not-Lost was a short, heavy built Argonian. Wearing what could only be called a cacophony of colour; crushed velvet, wide legged, pants a violent purple, a lemon coloured silk shirt with long collars tapering to a sharp points, a vivid, bright red, sequinned waistcoat and calf-length leather boots, dyed a startling green, that pointed and curled up at the toes.

The Argonian, herself, was almost as colourful, with scales that at once looked purple, at other times green as each scale caught the light of the sun as she moved. Her face had a white skull on it that was neither painted or a tattoo, but something more unnatural, eldritch, and a crest of multicoloured feathers swept backwards from the back of her head to her shoulders.

“I extend the claw of greeting to you all!” Finds-Things-Not-Lost moved from one member of the party to the other, shaking each of their hands in turn, with vigorous up-and-down pumping. “My beautiful Tilly says you are on quite an adventure.”

Tilly enjoyed the shocked faces of her bound companions as Finds-Things swept through the group like a miniature storm. No sooner had she introduced herself than she was off towards the horses, making swift inspections of each one in turn. Checking hooves, teeth, tails. She was quick, but thorough in her examinations.

“You’re Tilly’s friend?” It was Öenthir that recovered from the Argonian whirlwind first.

“Oh yes.” Finds-Things swept back to the group, her lips curled back in an unsettling Argonian approximation of a smile, and put her arm around Tilly, her tail curling around Tilly’s legs, “More than friends.”

“You were lovers?” A choked exclamation came from Itagaki who didn’t even attempt to hide her jaw dropping.

“Well. We fell into bed, we fell out of bed. We laughed, we fought.” The Argonian hugged Tilly with her arm, almost lifting the dark elf from her feet. “We were young!”

Tilly, as well as all the other bound companions, felt the intense feeling of jealousy that emanated through the binding, and Itagaki was quick to compose herself, staring at the floor in embarrassment.

“Tilly said you would buy our spare horses.” Revna was eager to move on, to save Itagaki from further scrutiny, “Are they of interest to you?”

“Aah! And you must be ‘The Big Khajiit Oaf’ Tilly mentioned.” Finds-Things sized up Revna’s massive frame, from feet to her head, “You really are the fine specimen she said you were. My, my!”

“Forget it, Finds.” Tilly hauled the Argonian back before she started groping the Khajiit, “Unless you’re a tall, blonde, Nord man with mead for brains, you won’t be of interest.”

“Pity. Such a pity.” Finds-Things smoothed down her garish waistcoat as Revna tried to look anywhere but at Tilly or the Argonian. “But, let us not talk of such crude things as ‘buying’ and ‘selling’. Tonight you will accept the hospitality of my most modest abode. We will eat. We will drink. We will sing and tell each other tales and, in the morning, we will discuss the distasteful matters of business. Come!”

And she was away, heading back to the gates of Abah’s Landing.

The others looked at each other and then, with haste, picked up their things and packed them onto their horses, grabbing the reins and tugging until they were all following the bright attired Argonian down the hill towards the city.

Tilly held back a little and stared at the Redguard walking in front of her, a sly smile curling on her face as she thought of Itagaki’s reaction to Finds-Things’ revelation about their history together. The sudden burst of jealousy that had funnelled through the binding had made Tilly’s heart skip a beat. She hadn’t meant for Finds-Things to come straight out with it, but Finds-Things was not one to keep her own counsel and it was somewhat of an inevitability that she would have said something before long.

Tilly only cared about the reaction. Itagaki definitely had feelings for her, and she for Itagaki. Now, it was only a matter of getting the Redguard to admit, and act, on them.

ii. Revna.

It was to Revna’s credit that she didn’t walk wide-eyed and open-mouthed through the city, despite it being so overwhelming for someone that had only ever seen the cities of Skyrim. Oh, those cities weren’t insignificant, but even the likes of Windhelm, Solitude and Winterhold paled in comparison to the city of Abah’s Landing.

The streets were wide avenues with high, mud daubed buildings painted a dazzling white. Minarets were on towers of many of the buildings, their golden surfaces reflecting the intense sunlight making the whole city seem to sparkle and flash. Along the avenues there were tents, awnings, marquees and wooden gazebos where people lounged on bright coloured carpets, resting heads and arms on curious, cylindrical, tasseled cushions as equally colourful as the carpets, shading themselves from the sun, but not the heat.

Great fountains dotted the avenues, spewing water from statues of fish, of horns of cornucopia, of women, in little clothing, carrying lipped amphora. Even one where four statues ‘urinated’ water to each side. Everyone seemed to be wearing blazes of colour, or bleached white clothing, all made from light, wispy materials that revealed far more than than they covered.

Hawkers and merchants, beggars and nobles. Fire breathers and bards, jugglers and animal sideshows. Representatives of all the races; Redguard, Argonian, Breton, Altmer, Dunmer, Bosmer, Nord and Khajiit. Everyone, it seemed, came to Abah’s Landing.

Hordes of children, clawed hands outstretched, clutching at clothes, pawing, grabbing, begging for coin, crowding around the newcomers until Finds-Things-Not-Lost hefted a handful of coins into the air that made the children scramble on the floor, pushing and fighting to grab as much money as they could gather.

Even when the party found themselves led to the Warehouse District, there were hordes of people thronging about in lazy walking patterns, weaving in and out of each others’ paths. People sitting beneath tall, bendy palm trees grabbing some little respite from the continuous sunlight, beneath the shade that the large leaves offered.

Soon, the meandering path, that Tilly’s Argonian friend had taken, led them to a set of tall wooden gates that Finds-Things-Not-Lost pushed open, the gates swinging inward on well-oiled hinges. And, beyond the gates, was a palace. Or, what Revna would describe as a palace.

The gates opened into a large courtyard with stables to one side and crates and boxes and all manner of wide-ranging and exotic items that Revna could not hope to identify, scattered around and stacked atop each other.

Several workers ran to the party and began taking the reins of their horses. Revna was more than reluctant to let go, snatching her horses reins away from the eager hands of the Redguard boy that tried to take them. It was only when Revna saw the smile on Tilly’s face and a nod telling her it was alright, that she released the reins. Much to the relief of the boy.

By now, Finds-Things-Not-Lost had already begun to ascend a set of wide steps at the other end of the courtyard, ushering them all to follow her. The steps led to a second courtyard and a building that towered above them, three stories high. In the courtyard, Revna saw a large gazebo surrounded by troughs and pots filled with various flowers and large-leafed shrubs. And, within the confines of the open-sided gazebo, a number servants in little clothing, almost remnants of clothes, two Redguard (a boy and a girl) a Bosmer girl and an Argonian male, stood holding jugs of some kind of liquid and platters of food.

Finds-Things swept her arm at the carpets and pillows dotted around the gazebo and, picking up a gold goblet, held it out for one of the servants to fill from their jugs of alcohol.

“Please. Sit. Drink and eat.” She sat down upon a carpet and leaned upon a purple cylinder cushion. “My meagre home is your home.”

Revna found herself relieved to finally sit in the shade, untying Jotnbann and laying it beside her as she sat, cross-legged, upon the carpet and accepted a filled goblet offered by the Redguard servant girl. Revna looked at the liquid. It wasn’t too dissimilar to mead, to look at, but, when she smelled it, the scent of spices told her that it very much was not mead. She tasted it, nonetheless, and found it to be quite an enjoyable concoction. Both sweet and savoury at the same time.

“I see your taste in servants has improved.” Tilly tipped her goblet, in toast, at Finds-Things-Not-Lost.

“My dear, these aren’t servants, they are my spouses.” Finds-Things reached toward the Bosmer girl and stroked her leg, “I would not dare to have my most honoured guests served by my pitiful staff. Only the very best will do for my dearest Tilly and her friends.”

“Would that we could impose upon your hospitality for longer, my sweet Finds.” Tilly’s eyes switched from one of Finds-Things spouses to the other and the next and the next, failing to conceal her admiration, “Were it not for the task we find ourselves bound to, I would have dearly enjoyed spending time here.”

“Ahh! Your noble quest! You simply must tell me about it.” Finds-Things clapped her hands and her spouses began to move between the guests offering food from the platters. “But first, we feast! We drink and, perhaps later, we will love.”

That last word aimed directly at Revna and she soon found the floor to be most fascinating. Yet, even more fascinating to her was Tilly. When did she stop speaking in the gutter talk and dialect of a street raised urchin, to the speech patterns of a noble-born?

It was clear, there was far more to the Dunmer than she had shown up to now. But how much more?

iii. Itagaki.

The feasting and drinking lasted for the rest of the day. As night fell everybody found themselves ushered inside where the celebration continued with Finds-Things’ spouses entertaining the party with musical accompaniment with various instruments, music and songs from their respective homelands. At one point or another, each of the Argonian’s wives and husbands would dance around the guests drawing admiring looks from Tilly.

It was Tilly that turned the conversation to business. First negotiating for the horses and their packs. Finds-Things insisted on buying all twelve horses. Tilly insisted eight. Finds-Things wavered and agreed to ten horses. Tilly agreed to eight. A final flourish, feigning anger and frustration, the Argonian settled on eight horses.

But that was nothing to the negotiations in regards to the price for eight horses and their packs, minus the cost of the new, more appropriate armour for Revna, which Revna had not even seen, let alone tested the fit. The backwards and forwards bargaining was mesmerising, even to Itagaki who, being a Redguard herself, was no stranger to the swing of bartering. The two combatants struck and defended, twisted and turned, shouted in anger, pleaded in obsequious fashion, threatened to quit the negotiation and, with each verbal cut and thrust, the Argonian and the Dunmer came closer and closer together until their lips were almost touching, staring into each other’s eyes with undisguised lust.

“Fine!” Finds-Things slapped her hand on the carpet. “Eight hundred gold and not a shred more. And a pox on your tongue, you magnificent grey skinned harlot!”

Both Tilly and Finds-Things-Not-Lost spat on their hands and shook each other’s, with vigorous abandon, before laughing aloud, hugging and slapping each other’s backs. Itagaki looked to her two other companions. Öenthir was at a loss, unable to comprehend the lesson in bartering she had just witnessed and Revna sat picking at the food before her, that must seem so strange to someone who had only ever eaten Nord cuisine, with nervous hands.

“And, of course, you will guide us to our destination tomorrow.” Tilly settled back on her cushions, a smug look upon her face that appeared almost ethereal in the flickering light from the lanterns and smouldering coals in the fire pit. “Personally.”

“Were it anyone else, I would throw them out in the morning with nary a stitch on their backs.” The Argonian’s croaky voice was full of warmth towards the dark elf, “But for you, my dark princess of Morrowind, I cannot refuse.”

Finds-Things reached for Tilly’s hand and kissed it, staring up at Tilly’s eyes. Then, lifting her goblet and emptying it with one swallow, she threw it aside and stood up, clapping twice. Her spouses, who had retired to the shadows of the room, all came running and lined up before the party.

“Now! I am to bed where several concubines eagerly await my arrival. Especially a fine specimen of an Altmer male, fresh from his life in the nobility. Each of you may choose one of my spouses for your pleasure this night.” She began to walk away, passing behind Revna and trailing a clawed hand across the Khajiit’s broad, muscular shoulders, “Unless someone can be persuaded to join me in a night of blissful debauchery?”

Revna stiffened and stared at the almost full plate of food before her, her intense eyes darting this way and that in embarrassment, muttering a ‘No, thank you’ in haste. Öenthir declined company for the night in as polite a fashion as she could muster and Tilly, once again, lent a roving eye across the Argonian’s wives and husbands.

“Thank you, Finds, you are a most gracious host, but I, for one, must decline your most generous offer.” Tilly glanced at Itagaki and their eyes locked together, “I have eyes for only one woman.”

“Good. Good.” The Argonian had almost left the room already and added, as her voice dwindled, “Tilly High-Haven. A one woman woman! Never did I think to see the day.”

As Revna stood up, followed in quick succession by the Bosmer mage, Itagaki and Tilly’s eyes never left each other. Itagaki’s heart had skipped a beat and she could feel her breath quickening and fitful. It was almost painful to pull her eyes away, but she fought herself and did so, standing to leave with the others. Tilly remained seated, taking her time to finish her last goblet of spiced wine, her eyes never leaving Itagaki, even as she left the room.

They had each a room of their own assigned to them. Large, airy rooms with open windows and light, gossamer curtains that caught the night-winds, floating in ghost-like waves. Itagaki’s bed was big enough for three or four people, with thick, soft pillows and light, silk sheets upon the softest down mattress she had ever laid upon.

She had undressed in haste, her body feeling like it was on fire, shaking and not from the chill of the desert wind. Standing naked before the window, she looked out, over the rooftops where Masser and Secunda made their graceful path across the cloudless night sky.

She didn’t turn around when she heard the slight creak of her door opening. Nor did she turn around when a pair of soft hands entwined her waist, or when small, bare breasts crushed into her back and she curled back against them with a sigh. Still she looked out of the window as a flash of white hair flickered in the corner of her eyes and soft, fluttery kisses traced their way up from her shoulder to her neck.

She turned around when the kisses stopped, finding herself desperate for them to continue. She turned around and fell into Tilly’s arms, their lips coming together and exploring each other with fire-hot passion, their hands holding each other as if they could never find release.

Itagaki allowed herself to be led to the bed. She could resist no longer. Not resist Tilly, but resist herself and the pact she had made with herself could be damned.

iv. Öenthir.

By the light of the oil lamps and the faint moonlight through the open windows, Öenthir was digging through her books, maps and materials given to her by Jarl Borgun. The tomb of the ancient mage in Hew’s Bane was only the beginning of their task and she felt it was up to her to locate the other two tombs.

She ran her hand through her blonde hair and sighed. The research that Borgun had accumulated was extensive and thorough, but there was nothing solid to work with. She surmised that the tomb they were to explore the next day was that of the Ayleid mage. Borgun’s notes implied this. She also suspected that the tomb of the ancient Nord mage would be somewhere in Skyrim, but all the information for the Dwemer mage pointed towards the south-east of Tamriel, and that made no sense at all.

Remembering her lessons in the Auridon Mages Guild, she recalled that the Dwarven empire didn’t stretch as far as Shadowfen and, she was certain, not as far as Murkmire, but that was where the research pointed. She tapped the pages, laid out on the bed before her as she sat, cross-legged, with several pillows propped up behind her.

Öenthir’s mind also kept wandering, making her late-night research that much more difficult. It had been a strange day and night. Tilly’s Argonian friend had been a weird whirlwind of talking and actions and Öenthir had difficulty catching her breath all day. Then, at the end of the night, when Finds-Things had mentioned the Altmer concubine and with the binding channeling the undisguised heat of Tilly and Itagaki’s sexual fencing, it had made dealing with intellectual matters most difficult.

Even now, the thought of the Altmer concubine brought back memories of Auridon and that one Altmer student that would take her breath away every time she saw him in class. His tall, noble bearing. His dignity and his keen intellect. His flawless, golden-tinged skin and his shining, emerald coloured eyes. He had, of course, no interest in the low-born Bosmer. No high elf ever would.

Öenthir shook her head. That was enough. She collected all the books, sheets of paper and maps, shoving them with little care back into her satchel and dropped it beside the bed. She couldn’t concentrate any longer. Snuffing out the bedside lamps, she rearranged the pillows, slipped under the silk sheets and tried to relax. The comfort of luxury a very pleasing change for her after the rough and ready blankets of Skyrim and the thin coverings of her bedroll.

But sleep wouldn’t come. Despite the welcome breeze from the windows, she still felt hot and sweaty. In fact, she felt excited. The tell-tale throbbing between her legs was quite shocking. She was proud that she kept those kinds of feelings in check, her studies being far more important to her than mere animal lusts, but, nevertheless, here she was, trying, with growing desperation, to tighten her thighs and overcome the feelings she was having.

It could be that it was the copious amounts of spiced wine, or, even, it was the memories of that Altmer student? Whatever it was, it was getting more and more difficult to ignore.

And then realisation hit her. It wasn’t her feelings that had set alight her loins. Powerful emotions passed through the binding between her, her three companions and also the Jarl back in Riften and it was very powerful emotions that she could feel now, sloughing through the empathic connection and forging a white-hot, passionate heat inside her. Tilly and Itagaki.

It was intense. It was tender, but also rushed and vigorous. It was, in essence, pure and beautiful.

Öenthir couldn’t help but laugh, catching herself and covering her mouth with her hand. She couldn’t imagine what effect these feelings the binding was sharing had upon the poor old Jarl! She could feel the effects, however. She relaxed, now, and let the passion wash over her and, as her hand wandered down, pulling up the hem of her night dress on the way, she couldn’t help but also feel guilty that she was bearing emotional witness to the intimacy of her two comrades.

With a groaning sigh, she closed her eyes. Right now, she didn’t care at all.


	10. Chapter 10

10

i. Öenthir’s dream.

She remembered this. Every last thing had burned into her mind. The stitched and restitched covers on the bed, made from the cheapest of cotton. The threadbare rush floor covering. Her sister’s bed, propped up by a shapeless lump of wood. Even the scorch mark on the pitted mud wall where her first attempt at a flame spell had gone awry.

This was her home. The tiny mud hut in Grahtwood where she had grown up.

And she remembered what day it was too. Several bags were on her bed, half-filled with her belongings and, yes, there, in the corner, was her satchel. Tossed aside. Reported to be of Ayleid origin and paid for by the meagre earnings of her parents in anticipation of her acceptance to the Elden Root Mages Guild. She hadn’t wanted it and she wasn’t going to Elden Root.

There was something else, though. Something amiss. She turned, a slow, sluggish movement trying to catch the something that seemed to anticipate her and stay of sight. A wisp of a presence in the corner of her eye.

She realised there was a noise, also. As if she was hearing something from a great distance, or like listening to something while immersed in water. She tried shaking her head, but she moved as if trapped in honey, slowed down by its sticky weight. She tried to concentrate. It was someone speaking. Concentrating harder, it soon came into focus.

“You’re just going to leave.” Very much like Öenthir, a little taller, a little older and with shoulder length dark brown hair, not the shorter blonde of Öenthir, but with the same snub nose, freckles and deep, dark black eyes. Her sister. “Just going to disappear while mum and dad are out working their fingers to the bones.”

“Get lost, Ferinwé!” Those were the words she had spoken, but not the words she wanted to say now, but she had no control over this play. “You couldn’t possibly understand if your tiny mind tried.”

“Oh, right! That’s our Öen! With the high and mighty brain.” Her sister held her hands at the side of her head, mocking, angry. Her thick Grahtwood accent reminding Öenthir of how hard she had tried to lose hers. “She’s too good for Elden Root! She’s better than us. Better than me and mum and dad.”

“I am better!” The words whiplashed between them and Ferinwé reacted as if the words had struck her. “I deserve better! Better than this infested hole. Better than the mud and the rotting filth that we walk through everyday! I deserve it and I’m taking it.”

Öenthir struggled to change what she had once spoken. She regretted it then and she hated herself for it now. The pain she had caused. The distress. If she could go back and change it, she would. She’d still go to Auridon, but not like this. Not again.

Instead, her body moved as it had done that day, grabbing things and shoving them into her bags as her sister stood and watched. The anger in the air was as thick as a wall between them.

And still the ‘something’, dancing out of sight, teasing her eyes, watched on.

Ferinwé broke her furious stare and turned toward the satchel that Öenthir had such dear love for now, but had only seen as a token of her old life, the life she had been desperate to leave behind back then. She picked up the satchel and tossed it onto the bed in front of Öenthir.

“You better take that.” This was where her sister said the most hurtful truth before leaving, “You’ll disappoint mum and dad by just leaving, they’ll know its for the best, but you leave that and they’ll know that it’s them that you’re leaving and that’ll break their hearts.”

“I don’t care!” Öenthir could feel her own heart breaking on hearing those words once more. Spoken by her in a fit of anger, yet regretted in an instant. She would take the satchel and write occasional letters home, but she had never gone back.

But, the dream hadn’t ended and her sister hadn’t left. This was different. This was not what happened. Ferinwé was still in the room, staring at Öenthir, her head cocked to the side, her eyes empty of any of the warmth that her sister usually had, even in anger.

“You will care.” Her sister’s fair skin had become botchy and pitted. It was turning a sickly shade of green, much like the rotting mulch beneath the trees within her forest home. “You will care, before the end.”

Pus filled boils erupted on Ferinwé’s skin, her face beginning to rot from within. Worms and spiders and centipedes were crawling over her, boring their way through her eyes, erupting from her mouth, her nose, her ears. She was decomposing where she stood, a foul stench assaulting Öenthir’s nose.

A light appeared in Ferinwé’s rotting hand. It expanded and lengthened, becoming a bright spear of burning light and her sister thrust the spear into Öenthir’s body, searing flesh and bone alike. Öenthir found herself lifted from the ground, the pain unimaginable as the spear of burning light set her body alight in flames.

“You will die before the end. You, or one of your friends, perhaps?” The thing that held Öenthir impaled was no longer her sister, but a black thing. A dark and terrible atrocity. “The Dunmer? The Khajiit? Or maybe the Redguard? Or maybe all four of the bound?”

Öenthir screamed in pain as the spear burned ever hotter and brighter and there, even in her agony, the ‘something’ in the corner of her eye watched on.

And seemed satisfied.

ii. Tilly.

She almost flounced into the courtyard, pleased with herself, to find it already a hive of activity. The sun had only begun to climb into the sky and their horses were all already saddled and their packs attached. The horses had also had a thorough tending to. Curried and combed and brushed, their coats and manes shining in the morning light.

The others had gathered together near the centre of the courtyard. Itagaki, the fresh loved beauty, had tied her hair back into the tight pony-tail and was tightening the straps on her leather armour. The mage seemed to be a little embarrassed at Tilly’s sunny disposition, adjusting the satchel over her shoulder several times.

The Khajiit appeared fraught as two servants attempted to strap her in to the new armour that Finds-Things had found for her in her vast, and sometimes legitimate, stores. Tilly couldn’t tell if the cat had become upset more about the armour, or that she was being dressed by strangers, or both.

“It feels too light. There’s no sturdiness to it.” Revna flinched as one of the servants tried to move her arm with respect to get to a strap at her side. “And black? I don’t come from here, but won’t black make it warmer? I thought the point was my own armour was too heavy and would be too hot for this Kyne damned place.”

“No, no. This is good. Very good.” Itagaki was circling around Revna, inspecting the new armour the Khajiit now wore, holding a white cloak that a servant had retrieved for her. “We will put you in this white cloak, that will help with the heat, but this armour ... you do not know what this armour means to many people, especially around Hammerfell.”

Tilly didn’t understand, either. It was only leather armour. Black, leather armour with red highlights and a stylised scorpion motif on the left side of the chest. It didn’t seem special to her.

“Your most beautiful companion is correct, my stunning Khajiit friend.” Finds-Things-Not-Lost had joined the group and stared with open admiration at the sight of Revna. “This armour was found in a tomb, sealed airtight for centuries. It was the armour of a great and feared warrior of the Ra Gada. Known only as Scorpion Black, it was said no mortal blade could penetrate his armour and that he, himself, could not die.”

“What happened to him?” Tilly had sidled up to her companions, trying to get close to Itagaki, but she moved away, seeming to ignore her.

“He died. It was quite unexpected.” Finds-Things shrugged and waved a dismissive hand, “But his armour remained complete. I have had experts examine this armour and they have assured me it is as if it was made yesterday. It is magnificent, is it not? And you paid far less for it than I am happy with.”

“You wouldn’t be happy if we’d paid three times its worth.” Finds-Things laughed at Tilly’s on-the-nose observation.

“Of course!” Finds-Things continued to appreciate the armour and the person who occupied it. “I did not make my fortune by giving things away, my dearest Princess. Now, please excuse me, I must attend to my own mount. I’m sure these lazy servants have not even started to get him ready, but we must set off soon, or we will be caught in the mid-day sun and my scales are too delicate to be so dry.”

Tilly noticed Itagaki watch with intent as Finds-Things moved away, shouting at her servants. The one’s attending Revna and her armour had also moved on to other duties, thankful that they no longer had to deal with the irritated Khajiit. When the four of them were finally alone, she looked between the companions with concern.

“I expect everybody felt it, last night, through the binding?” There was a sense of urgency to the question.

“What? No! I ... I fell straight to sleep.” The Bosmer mage was a little too insistent, to Tilly’s ears, and there was a distinct flush to the wood elf’s face. Tilly almost laughed.

“I felt many things through the binding last night.” Revna gave Tilly and Itagaki a knowing look, but then gave a far more sympathetic look to the mage. Tilly wondered what was going on there. “Which feeling do you mean?”

“Borgun.” Itagaki had seen the look from Revna, and the way Öenthir had reacted, and she set her face close to her usual impassive features. “The Jarl was upset, last night. I believe the voices must have begun their call once more. Which means we have little time to waste. Clear your minds, concentrate and you will feel it too.”

Tilly didn’t bother. If her beautiful Redguard lover said the Jarl was hearing the voices again, then she believed her. The others did concentrate, though, and they shared concerned looks between them. If the voices had started, that meant they had three months within which to return the Gems of Unison to the tombs of the three ancient mages. Two of whom, they had no idea where to even look, as far as Tilly knew.

“We’d best get a move on, then.” Tilly had moved beside Itagaki and placed a casual arm about the Redguard’s shoulder, but Itagaki shrugged the hand away, turning towards her horse and jumping into the saddle with one acrobatic sweep of her legs. This annoyed Tilly. Annoyed and confused her.

“I’m still not sure about this armour.” Revna was fidgeting and adjusting the armour, rolling her shoulders as if the armour was pinching her. Still, she attached the brilliant white cloak Itagaki handed to her to clips on the armour and mounted her horse, adjusting the cloak to cover the horse’s rear.

Tilly had to admit, to herself, that the Khajiit did look magnificent. The combination of her sheer size, the deep black of the armour and the pristine white of the cloak gave Revna a look of nobility. Royalty, even. It was impressive and, with the handle of the cat’s great sword poking out from beneath the cloak, even intimidating.

“Do you trust me, Revna Astadottir?” Itagaki pulled the reins of her horse, turning to face Revna. The Khajiit looked into the Redguard’s eyes and gave a curt nod. “Then believe what I say. When we leave through those gates, you will see what that armour means to the people of Hammerfell. Prepare yourself, my Khajiit friend, for you are about to become legend.”

“But I don’t want to be ‘legend’.” Revna looked down at the armour beneath the cloak.

Tilly found this all a little too dramatic for her tastes. With a roll of the eyes, she found her horse and climbed into the saddle with far more ease than she had only a few days before. The cat may be about to be ‘legend’, but she was infamous. Or, she would be, as soon as this little excursion was over and done with. Damn the cat, damn the uppity mage and damn the Redguard, whose passions were up and down like Dibella’s knickers.

She would put all her efforts into this quest, now. She would show them all that she was as much a Divines’ damned hero as any of them. If she did, then Itagaki might decide what she wanted.

iii. Revna.

The gates of the Argonian merchant’s compound opened and the party set out into the city once more. Even at this early hour, the avenues were teeming with people. And goats. A large herd of goats, shepherded by an old Redguard in a dusty turban and long, white robes, blocked the way for a short while, Finds-Things shouting at them to move.

At first, Revna thought that Itagaki had been pulling her leg about the response the armour would have on the people of Abah’s Landing, knowing how little Revna liked too much attention. Few people, if any, looked at the party of varied people upon the horses, at first. But, then, she began to see people looking and furtive tugging at sleeves to the people next to them.

Soon, after the goats had dispersed out of the way, the party found themselves slowed by another herd. A throng of people began to form about them. Whispers and murmurs sweeping around like flames jumping from one flammable material to another. Hands reached out to touch Revna. To touch the hem of her cloak, her horse, her feet and, especially, her armour.

Revna didn’t like it. Her mouth dropped and her eyes widened like a cornered animal, searching for escape.

“Let’s go back to the compound. I want to get out of this armour. Now.” She turned in the saddle to look behind, but the crowd surrounded them. “This is madness! They can’t possibly think I’m this ‘Black Scorpion’.”

“Scorpion Black, my dear.” Finds-Things-Not-Lost was enjoying the attention, waving at the crowd, making sure that they knew she was with Revna, “They believe the stories. They have always been told that Scorpion Black would return in their hour of greatest need to free them from tyranny. In their eyes, you are here to save them from ... from ... who is in charge of the Empire right now?”

“No-one.” Tilly was leaning forward over the neck of her horse, amused a great deal by the whole thing. “There’s a whole war going on to decide who will sit on the Ruby Throne.”

“Ah, yes, the war. Very profitable.” Finds-Things rubbed her chin, musing over the possibilities to make profit. She shook her head and continued. “Then the great and immortal Scorpion Black is here to deliver them from the war. Or from famine, or floods, or whatever else they decide you are here for. Prophecy is malleable like that.”

“I’m not here for anything!” Revna tried to weave her horse through the crowd, trying to avoid the reaching hands and ignore the murmuring voices. “I am just one of four, trying to save a young girl’s life. I’m not some hero here to save them.”

“Are you not?” Finds-Things caught and held Revna’s eyes. “Are you not here to enter the tomb of a great, powerful and ancient sorcerer? Are you not about to bravely face the unknown, sword in hand, ready to fight to the death if necessary? Sounds like heroism to me.”

“We do not know what we will be facing, if anything.” Itagaki had pushed her horse to the front, making room for them all to pass through the growing crowd of people staring in awe at Revna. “We are all just here to return what was once taken. But, Finds-Things is right. Let the people have this. Let them have hope.”

Revna fell in to silence, staring down at the reins in her hand, letting her horse follow the others as they made slow progress through the city. She hated being the focus of anyone’s attention, let alone the attention of hundreds. And there were hundreds of people here. It felt like the entire city had flocked to see the great Scorpion Black reborn.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see them all. Most of them were Redguard people, but with Khajiit and Argonians in the crowd, tall high elves, shorter dark elves and even shorter wood elves. Bretons, Imperials, even a Nord or two had joined the wave of people following them through the avenues. Following Scorpion Black.

Revna hated it.

“Well, you did want to be accepted.” Öenthir had fallen in beside her, a barrier to the people on one side, at least. “Probably not the way you wanted it, but it is acceptance. Of a sort.”

“I want to be accepted for who I am.” Revna tapped her chest, next to the etching of a scorpion on her breast. “Not for the armour of a ghost.”

They had reached the gates of the city, by now, and the city guards had finally sprung into action, pushing the crowds aside as best they could, but even they would turn and give the occasional stare in admiration at Revna and her controversial armour.

They finally broke through the crowd, passing through the gates and kicking their horses to a canter. The crowd followed for a short while, then diminished and dwindled until only a few stragglers began to fall behind and then disappear into the distance.

Revna breathed a deep sigh of relief once they were alone, finally able to relax as Finds-Things-Not-Lost led them through the rocky landscape, pointing out another tomb carved into the rock, across a stream from where they were. Another ancient magick user, a necromancer, Bahraha. Another one from history that would not stay dead, dispatched to Oblivion by some nameless, soul-deprived vestige out to make a hero of themselves.

The party lapsed into silence as they wound their way along a almost unnoticeable path. Itagaki rode beside the Argonian, at the front. Tilly had fallen in a little behind them, staring daggers into the Redguard’s back and Öenthir had remained beside Revna, keeping pace and giving the occasional look at her with a comforting smile.

“I wanted to ask,” Revna broke the silence, more comfortable now that they were away from the masses of people in Abah’s Landing, “I felt your distress through the binding, last night, and I wondered if it was anything you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh, it was nothing.” Öenthir tried to brush it off, but Revna could see that the Bosmer had concerns. “Just a nightmare. Well a dream, at first.”

“Another nightmare?” Revna felt concern for the wood elf, herself. “Do you get them often?”

“No, not really.” The mage thought for a second before continuing. “This one was different. Like a memory, but it was like my memory but remembered by someone else. It was ... disturbing, in more ways than one.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Revna could see that the thought of the dream was still uncomfortable to Öenthir.

“No. It’s fine. It was just a dream after another strange day.” Öenthir made a little chuckle. “I’m sorry you had to feel it too, though. Damn this binding!”

“Aye.” Revna looked forward towards Tilly and Itagaki. “I think the binding shares too much, if you ask me.”

Öenthir said nothing but tried to hide a little, embarrassed, smile.

Finds-Things-Not-Lost called a halt to the party then. She rode forward for a short distance, examining the landscape before them. The land was starting to become more rock than sand now, with less clumps of grass and more brittle, small leafed bushes with sharp looking branches.

“The path ends here.” The Argonian returned to the party, “It gets more difficult from now on. We should ride single file. And watch out for Kotu Gava! If those bastard insects swarm on you, you’ll get cut to ribbons!”

Revna looked upwards to the terrain that would soon become mountainous. Small mountains, but mountains nonetheless. They were heading towards the thin isthmus between the peninsula of Hew’s Bane and the rest of Hammerfell. Almost impassable by land and bypassed by sea most other times, or so Itagaki had said.

It was a dangerous place to travel, but a perfect place to hide a tomb that was never meant to receive visitors, let alone entered, and Revna wondered if the infamous Scorpion Black had ever made this journey. Or had he been too busy being the instigator of prophecies to embarrass a poor Nord raised Khajiit in the future.

iv. Itagaki.

The path they were taking was rough going, twisting and turning, almost doubling back in some parts, and always moving higher into the stark sand brown mountains. More than once the horses struggled on the rugged terrain and they had to dismount and lead the creatures with extra care over shifting rocks and gaping clefts.

The Argonian seemed to know, or at least have a good idea, where they were going and, as the sun continued its rise into the sky, Itagaki stopped the party at regular intervals to drink water. Revna seemed to find the going more arduous. It was an expected problem. The Khajiit had never experienced heat like it. Being thrust from the moderate chill of the Rift into this, hot cloying environment must be a great shock to her, even with the lighter armour and the white cloak to reflect the worst of the sun’s baking rays.

“You still find the armour uncomfortable.” She stated during one of the water breaks, seeing Revna shift the chest piece once again.

“Aye. In more ways than one.” She didn’t seem miserable, but nor did she seem even close to being happy.

“I understand.” She looked down the mountain, the way they had come. The city of Abah’s Landing now a mere speck in the distance and who knows how much further they had to go. “But, the prestige of that armour may very well work to our advantage in the future and it is better to fight in in this heat. You will see.”

“That’s as may be, but I feel like a fraud. People thinking this armour means I am something I am not.” Revna wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and took another drink from her flask. “I’m just a warrior from Skyrim. Nothing more. I don’t want to be anything more.”

“I truly do understand.” Itagaki bent over to check the legs and hooves of her horse, “I never wished to be a warrior, but I still trained and still fought and now I cannot imagine being anything else.”

“What would you have been, if not a warrior?” Replacing her flask into her pack, Revna seemed a little shocked at that minor revelation.

“I wanted to be a bard. A musician.” Itagaki rarely laughed, but she laughed at her own foolish childhood dreams. “I was quite the flute player. I had promise, so I was told, but I had to follow my mother and father into the war parties. It was the lot of my family and it was made very clear to me that it would be my lot in life too.”

“I can’t imagine you as a bard!” Revna joined in the laughter with that musical, tinkling laugh that was so at odds with her big frame and her normal speaking voice. The Khajiit unfastened her weapons roll and checked that they were still fastened correct and secure. A long piece of wood, added to the roll at some point, with the beginnings of carvings in its surface could be seen. “Or, maybe I can. A flute, eh? I’ll keep that in mind.”

Itagaki didn’t know what her Khajiit friend meant by that and she furrowed her brow as she tried to work it out. The Argonian called to them all to continue the climb before the sun reached its zenith. She worried about her scales drying in the ferocious mid-day sun and wanted to reach their destination before then. Itagaki agreed. There was little shade in these mountains.

Upon remounting, it was Öenthir that rode at her side for this part of the journey. Immaculately dressed, as always. This time in matching light, white cotton pants and blouse, unbuttoned down to the uppermost edges of her breasts with a cream waistcoat, unfastened, over it, and a wide-brimmed cream riding hat, a light mesh band around the crown that extended down and tied under her chin.

The Bosmer had been swapping her time, riding with each of them at different points, almost like she was trying to give equal time for everybody, even Finds-Things-Not-Lost. It was curious, considering that she had been so against joining the expedition in the first place, but she seemed committed now and, despite her initial aloofness, had integrated herself with everyone. Itagaki had come to like the little wood elf a great deal.

“What do you expect we’ll find once we get to this tomb?” It was small-talk, but welcome small-talk. “Have you ever explored a tomb before?”

“I have not. Tombs in Hammerfell are considered sacrosanct. We do not disturb the dead.” Itagaki looked at the mage. She had been speaking with Tilly earlier and she wondered what they talked about. She resisted the urge to look back at the Dunmer. That was something to deal with later. “Have you?”

“Oh, yes!” The mage almost seemed proud of the fact, but then her upright back relaxed and she looked at Itagaki, almost in apology. “Well, not really. I was taken to a couple in Auridon, with the rest of the class, but the tombs had already been explored and anything bad had been removed or cleansed. It’s not the same as what we’re doing here.”

“Then this will be a new experience for us both.” Itagaki shared a smile with Öenthir, “And it is something your classmates would enjoy hearing about, I should expect, when you return in triumph.”

“Not really.” Öenthir’s head had dropped and she had a sadness about her as she looked down at her reins. “The Altmer students don’t associate with anyone, the Argonians are practically ignored by everyone, including me, and the other Bosmer students think I act above my station. They say I think I’m better than them.”

“And do you?” Itagaki was not one for treading lightly in conversations. Nothing was ever gained by prevaricating.

“I ... yes.” The mage’s head dipped even further, the brim of her riding hat covering her eyes. At least she felt shame about it, Itagaki thought. “I mean, I did, but so much has changed in so little time that I think I’ve changed so much too and I hope I don’t change back once I return to the Guild.”

Itagaki didn’t answer straight away. They had all changed in the short time they had known each other. Less than a week had passed and even she had changed. She hadn’t meditated for days. She was being emotional, in good ways and bad. And with Tilly, she had ...

“You will not.” Itagaki had caught herself before thinking about the dark elf again. “Change is essential for life and you can never go back to how things were. Never exactly enough, no matter how hard you try to make it so. You will always be different than you were, it is up to you whether that is a good difference, or a bad difference.”

Itagaki dipped in the saddle, trying to look beneath the brim of the Bosmer’s hat, and flashed a warm smile when she caught Öenthir’s eye. Öenthir smiled back and soon her head raised once more, smiling again.

Finds-Things-Not-Lost raised a hand and stopped the party again, far too soon for another drink break. The Argonian stared down at the ground before her horse, shaking her head. Itagaki trotted up to join her, looking at where the Argonian was staring.

“We may have a slight problem.” The Argonian looked at Itagaki, noticeable worry on her face.

v. Öenthir.

They had found themselves at a the entrance to a thin pass between two steep rising cliffs. Wide enough to ride two horses side-by-side but with little room for much else. It was going to be tight going for a while, but that wasn’t what had concerned Finds-Things-Not-Lost.

Öenthir followed the lead of the others and dismounted to have a closer look. Scattered around the entrance to the pass were piles of bones, bleached white in the Hammerfell sun. Bones from, as Öenthir could see from a cursory inspection, several different animals. Some she could identify, goats, jackals, humans (or, at least, humanoid) and even lion bones, others were of animals that were beyond her studies.

“Troll.” Itagaki picked up a thigh bone, tracing the teeth marks with her fingers, and stared down the pass. “These bones mark its territory. Is there another way around?”

The Argonian shook her head and pointed at the steep cliffs on either side. Itagaki tossed the bone aside, sending it clattering into the other bones at her feet. She loosened her swords in her sash and looked at Revna in silence. Revna nodded and returned to her horse.

“We will need a strategy.” Itagaki handed the reins of her horse to Finds-Things. “Trolls are not easily killed.”

“I have a strategy.” Revna hefted the double-edged battle axe she had unfastened from her weapons roll and made a wide-arced practice swing. “We hit it very hard until it stops moving.”

Öenthir felt, once again, that she was going to be of little use as the Khajiit strode toward the entrance of the pass, her axe held with ease in both hands. Itagaki shook her head at the big Khajiit’s over-confidence, but followed her into the pass, drawing her short sword.

Still, even though she had little to offer in a fight, Öenthir followed, hoping that there was something she could do and not wanting her friends to go into the troll’s den alone. She looked at Tilly who, at first, seemed determined to hang back and let the other two do the dirty work, but, upon seeing Öenthir follow the others also decided to follow, albeit with slow begrudging movements.

The four companions made their way with care through the pass, the Argonian had remained behind, watching the horses. The pass meandered and twisted, thinning out, widening, rising and falling, hollowed from the rock faces by decades of erosion from some ancient river that had now dried out or had changed course over the years.

Soon, the pass widened again, opening up into an area that had likely been a gulch. A dip in the floor where once there had likely been a pond was where they caught sight of the troll, laid in the sunlight, relishing the warmth among a blanket of stark white bones. Itagaki stopped and crouched down, the others following suit, and she surveyed the area.

“Well, we certainly cannot go around it.” She pointed to both sides of the small valley. “There is no cover on any side. We shall have to fight it.”

“Good.” Revna’s eyes almost glowed with enthusiasm for the battle to come, gripping and releasing her hold on her axe several times. “This will be a glorious fight!”

“Have a care, my friend. Trolls are faster than they look.” Itagaki made a friendly pat on Revna’s shoulder. She was advising caution, but Öenthir could see that she was almost as eager as Revna. “You attack from the front, grab its attention and I will circle around and attack from behind.”

“Aye.” Revna was rocking back and forth, as if she had trouble stopping herself from starting the attack now.

“You two hold back.” Itagaki turned to Öenthir and Tilly. “If things go awry, I want you both to distract it. You’re both unarmoured, so you’ll be faster. Run around, keep out of its reach and throw things, anything, until Revna or I can land the telling blow.”

“Stay out of its way?” Tilly seemed as relaxed as if it was only another day. “My kind of plan.”

“I can try my Mage Light.” Öenthir offered. “It might confuse it.”

“Good idea.” Revna nodded at Öenthir, “But no heroics. Keep as far away from it as you can. Leave the close fighting to us.”

With the plan worked out, Itagaki and Revna slipped from the mouth of the pass, one to one side, the other sneaking around the other side. Öenthir’s mouth was dry as she found herself holding her breath. She stopped herself and tried to breathe as normal as she could. She hated to admit it, but this was exciting.

Her two friends had reached points opposite each other with the snuffling, sunbathing troll between them. Itagaki gave the signal. Revna paused a second, looked around, and picked up the skull of some animal, hefting it twice in her hand before launching it towards the head of the troll.

Nothing happened at first, the troll tried wafting its hand in front of its face as if it were swatting a fly, but then it began to stir, sniffing the air. It had caught the scent of Revna and Itagaki. Sitting up, it used its long powerful arms to stand, looking around. When a second skull hit it, it immediately focused on the Khajiit before it, and snarled.

Itagaki had been right, the troll was fast. It launched itself across the gap between it and Revna, landing before her even before she had got half-way through a swing of her axe. The troll caught the axe by the handle, Revna’s hands too, held in its huge clawed hand, and, with surprising ease, it picked the big Khajiit up and tossed her aside with a roar.

Revna flew through the air as if she weighed nothing more than a child’s doll, crashing into the wall of the valley before falling to the floor. A motionless, limp pile. Öenthir almost ran out to her, but Tilly held her back by the collar of her blouse and waistcoat, shaking her head.

With the shock of Revna’s attack thwarted so soon, Itagaki still had the wherewithal to force home her own strike. With the troll still roaring its defiance at Revna, Itagaki stepped forward, thrusting her sword deep into the trolls back. This time the troll roared in pain, clutching and grasping at its back trying to get to the source of that pain. It began furious flailing. Its body twisted, its arms flew about in all directions. The ferocity of its pained movements ripped the sword from Itagaki’s grip, still entrenched deep in the monster’s back.

Before she could even think about drawing her other sword, the troll had swept an arm in a long arc, catching Itagaki at the apex and sending her pinwheeling to the far end of the valley. Now it returned its attention to the unmoving body of Revna, the nearest and the first to attack it.

Öenthir couldn’t hold back any longer, she almost flew from the mouth of the pass, casting her Mage Light as she ran. Tilly, with hesitation, ran the other way, picking up bones to throw. The ball of Mage Light did the trick, floating in front of the trolls face, it swatted and swiped at the ball, ignoring the various bones that Tilly was throwing.

But the troll was not as stupid as it looked. It saw the tiny figure of Öenthir and swept its arm at the ground sending bone fragments flying towards her. She stumbled and fell trying to avoid them and the troll moved with speed towards her, stopped only by a yell from behind as Tilly launched herself onto its back stabbing it several times in the neck with a dagger.

Again the troll screamed in pain, reaching back, grabbing the dark elf and tossing her aside before returning its attention to Öenthir. She couldn’t gain her footing and scrambled backwards, praying to Y’ffre. The trolls huge frame blotted out the sun as it loomed over her, her back against the canyon wall and she did the only thing she could think of. Without warning, the trolls face was on fire, flames burning and singing its needle-like fur, making it rear up in pain once again.

And then the roaring and screaming stopped. Its eyes rolled into the back of its head and it began, like a tree after felling, toppled to the side. Öenthir was still shadowed, but this time the shadow was smaller. Familiar.

Revna, covered in her own blood and the trolls, with much effort, pulled her axe from the skull of the troll. She stood there, for a moment, victorious, magnificent, before staggering and then collapsing to the bone covered floor.


	11. Chapter 11

11

i. Itagaki.

Although the fight had not gone quite to plan, the outcome was positive. It had been the group’s second fight together and they had performed well against a difficult and strong opponent. They needed to work better together, as a team not as individuals, but the mage and Tilly had both performed their tasks, giving herself and, especially, Revna time to recover.

They had a long way to go before they could become a reckonable force, but the basics were there. Even Itagaki herself needed to work harder. This wasn’t a company of soldiers and she needed to adapt to the team, not expect them to become the soldiers she had previously led. That wasn’t how this team would work best.

Öenthir had gone around the group offering her, self-admitted, limited healing. Tilly wasn’t hurt too much, only a couple of bruises. Itagaki herself had wrenched her old injury, but it wasn’t something that the Bosmer could fix other than relieve the pain a little. It was Revna that needed healing more than the rest. She had hit the canyon wall pretty hard and should, if Itagaki was to judge, have been more injured than she was.

“That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.” Öenthir had said after staunching the blood flow on the cut to Revna’s head, above the eyes. “It’s going to leave a scar, though.”

“You can never have enough scars, mage.” Revna had laughed, but the Khajiit had many scars. It was possible she received this one in better circumstances, Itagaki hoped. “Scars give you character.”

Itagaki disagreed. The Khajiit had enough scars and enough character of her own. She didn’t need a scar to show her character. She showed it every time she picked up a weapon, every time she spoke to her companions and every time she showed humility at her actions. She may not be Scorpion Black, but she was, for certain, Revna Astadottir, daughter of Skyrim, and a credit to that cold unwelcoming province.

The Argonian had joined them, horses in tow, filled with great excitement at the party’s victory against the troll, running around to everyone, shaking their hands and making effusive praise of their efforts.

“But, I fear, your day is not yet finished.” Finds-Things pointed further down the pass, beyond the valley of the troll. “Your true battle is ahead, is it not?”

Itagaki expected her companions to want to rest longer, and would not have blamed them if they did, but, to a one, they all stood once more, ready to face whatever they had to face in the ancient mage’s tomb ahead. She felt deep pride in them at that moment.

“Aye.” Revna hid the effort of standing well, hefting her battle axe onto her shoulder, “Let us have done with it.”

“Do you think there’ll be gold in this tomb? That’s what they do, isn’t it? Bury people with their riches?” Tilly wasn’t asking anyone in particular, “Because, if there is, you know I’m having it, right?”

“Be good, little elf!” Revna clapped Tilly on the shoulder, almost making the Dunmer stumble, “Show some respect for the dead and we might just make it out alive.”

“I’ll ‘little’ you in a minute, you big hairball.” Tilly tried to shove the Khajiit away, but Revna was too sturdy for that. Itagaki had a feeling that the antagonism she had seen from the dark elf towards Revna was losing its bite, even becoming friendly. “I respect those that respect me. The dead leave me alone and I’ll leave them alone. Their gold, however ... well, that’s fair game.”

“How far to the tomb, Finds-Things?” Öenthir was still trying to brush off the dirt from her clothes as she spoke to the Argonian.

“If you’re map is accurate it should be no more than two hundred yards, or so, up that passage.” Finds-Things kicked the still form of the troll, “This fell beast could almost be described as its gatekeeper. Oh, yes, I can see it now, ‘The company of Scorpion Black reborn smote the demonic troll gatekeeper of the foul Ayleid necromancer and sallied forth to glory!’. It has a ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Enough of this ‘Scorpion Black’ nonsense, Finds!” Itagaki felt surprised that it was Tilly that had called out the Argonian, “Let’s just get this over with.”

They decided to lead the horses the last stretch of the way and this turned out to be for the best. The pass appeared to be far less stable beyond the lair of the troll. Rocks, fallen from the face of the cliffs towering above them, littered the floor and it would have been difficult going for the horses if they had been riding.

They soon reached the end of the passage and found themselves in a large valley of surprising size. Large enough for trees to be growing there, surrounding a pool of water with clumps of bullrushes around the edge that was being fed from a waterfall at the far end of the valley, the tinkling, rushing water sounding strange after the muffled silence of the passage and the crevasse walls they had been traversing.

And there, off to the side was the entrance to a cave, overflow from the pool forming a stream that trickled down into the dark depths. Öenthir stepped forward for a closer look and Itagaki fell in beside her, in case of any nasty surprises. The thing that had caught the Bosmer’s attention was above the mouth of the cave. A carving.

“The Ayleid Great Tree.” It was a distracted mumble from Öenthir, not directed at anyone, but more for herself. “That would indicate that we are at the right place.”

“And, it would seem that we are expected.” Itagaki pointed down into the mouth of the cave.

Joined by Revna and Tilly, now, and all four stared down into the cave where they could see four torches, held in sconces.

They were already lit.

ii. Tilly.

They each took one of the torches from a sconce, Itagaki walking forward, with tentative steps, holding the torch in front of her in one hand, the other gripping her short sword, to try to see what was ahead. The stream of water passed beneath and through their legs, giving them a trail to follow, but none of the group made much of a move to begin the exploration.

“Wen. Can you use your Mage Light?” Itagaki looked back over her shoulder at the Bosmer. “Just in case these torches we have been provided ‘conveniently’ go out.”

This was, it was clear, a new experience for the others. The darkness, the close, claustrophobic, walls and roof seeming to loom and gather in towards the group. The way that the walls muffled and echoed the sounds. At once dull and hard to hear, but also more sharp with sounds bouncing around and seeming to come from several directions.

It wasn’t new to Tilly, though. She had spent more than her fair share of times in similar places. Navigating the thieves’ refuges, often found underground, or taking advantage of sewer systems in the major cities in order to access the homes that she would then plunder while the homeowners were otherwise unaware. She was quite used to the darkness and the strange sounds and feelings the encroaching walls would engender.

She felt it was for the best, most like, if she took the lead going further into the cave and Itagaki, who was being a little too cautious in this unfamiliar environment, even allowed it. Of course, if anything dangerous did appear, she’d be the first to scramble her way to the back, not from any kind of fear, but because you don’t put a square peg in a round hole. She knew where her skills lay, and it wasn’t in fighting beasties head-to-head. That was the job of Itagaki and the furball.

She led them forward as the cave floor began to descend and twist to the left. The water from the pool had eroded a channel in the floor that followed the shape of the cave’s curve. The mage’s light floated and bobbed a little further ahead than the group, in order that they didn’t meet any nasty things by surprise.

At one point, seeing something ahead that caught her eye, Öenthir barged her way to the front. In the light of her magickal orb, she was making close examinations of the wall at several points. She seemed to find it confusing.

“This isn’t right.” She was talking to herself again. Tilly noticed the wood elf did that a lot if something fascinated her. “That’s not right at all.”

“What isn’t right?” Tilly looked at the wall, but it only looked like a normal wall to her.

“There’s an abrupt change in the rock, right here.” Öenthir placed her hand on the wall and then proceeded to fan her finger from one side to the other of the spot she had been examining. “From sandstone, to granite. That’s not unheard of, to be honest, but this is an immediate change. And the formation of it just isn’t natural.”

“How can you tell it’s not natural?” Revna was peering over their heads, but Tilly surmised she had as much idea of what was going on as she did.

“There are no straight lines in nature.” Öenthir pointed at the change in rock and she was right. It was a perfect straight line dividing the rock types.

Tilly had once had a lover that was an artist, she had told her the same thing about nature despising straight lines and, unwilling to take anybody’s word for anything, Tilly had spent a great deal of her precious time putting the idea to the test. And her artist lover had been quite correct. Sometimes something looked like it was a straight line, but it never was.

This, the dividing line in the cave wall, was a perfect straight line. There was not even the slightest gap between the two rock types. Tilly agreed, now, that it wasn’t natural. They had to continue into the cave, though, if they were to find the ancient mage’s tomb, so Tilly continued to lead the way.

They soon came to an abrupt end to the tunnel, one that they may have missed, even with the light of their torches, if it had not been for Öenthir’s Mage Light bobbing downwards, past what should have been the floor of the passage. The little river ran over the edge into the blackness beyond.

“Can you make your light brighter, Wen?” Tilly could see nothing beyond the edge from where the light orb had dropped except the orb itself several feet below. “I mean, a lot brighter.”

“I’ll do my best.” The wood elf closed her eyes and concentrated, holding her hand out before her, her fingers clawed upwards as if holding the ball of light in her hand, then she flexed her fingers straight until her hand was flat, raising the hand higher in the air before her.

The orb of Mage Light followed suit. It lifted upwards, expanding, little-by-little, and brightening, brightening, brightening until the orb was the size of a cow, hanging some twenty feet in the air before them. And what it revealed was magnificent.

Öenthir collapsing caused Tilly to look away from the sight. The larger, brighter Mage Light she had conjured had taken a lot out of the little Bosmer and Itagaki and Revna gathered around her to make sure she was alright.

“I’ll be fine.” She tried to brush off their concerns, but her speech slurred, somewhat, like she hadn’t slept for days. “I just never used so much magicka before. Just give me a minute.”

“You’d better see this, lover.” Tilly had grabbed Itagaki’s shoulder and the Redguard pulled away, with a sharp twist. Shocked at the anger of the gesture, Tilly touched the shoulder again, with more care. “You should see this.”

Itagaki, with a begrudging scowl, stood up, leaving Revna to care for the exhausted mage, and came to join Tilly at the edge of the end of the passageway and gasped at the sight before her.

iii. Öenthir.

Revna knelt on one knee beside her, a look of concern in her eyes. She had most like not had much experience of mages and didn’t know about the physical cost of using magicka, but Öenthir’s strength was returning in gradual steps. It had been a while since she had pushed her abilities this far, what with the fight with the troll and expanding her Mage Light to the largest and brightest it had ever been.

“I’m fine.” She tried to assure the Khajiit and tried to stand. A helping hand from Revna aided her. “Let’s see what the others have found.”

A little wobbly, at first, Öenthir joined Itagaki and Tilly at the mouth of the passageway, followed by Revna who stayed close at hand.

What she saw took her breath away. The passage had opened out to a large cavern, but not, it seemed, a natural one. The walls, carved into great columns, straight and imposing. The roof was only about ten feet above and appeared an almost perfect, smooth surface. Itagaki and Tilly stood at the edge of a sheer drop, the water from the little stream at their feet dropping over the edge as a mini waterfall, landing in a rectangular pool surrounded by statues, of clear Ayleid origin.

The floor of the cavern was about twenty feet below them and a set of thin steps led the way down. With caution, the party began to descend these steps, Öenthir’s Mage Light making what would have been a perilous descent much easier. They all still held their torches, which was, they all thought, for the best. Öenthir wasn’t certain how long her light spell would last.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, they found a path that led around the pool, the waters sparkling in the magickal artificial light, to a smaller set of steps. Smaller in height, but much wider. At the top of these steps were two braziers flanking what had, at first, looked like a wall, but was now, it was clear, a great stone door and, upon the door was the image of the Ayleid Great Tree which had also adorned the mouth of the cave.

“So, what happens now.” Tilly used her torch to light one of the braziers and it burst into life as if someone had prepared it that day. “Don’t these things usually have a puzzle or something to open them?”

“I don’t know.” Öenthir stood back to get a better view while Itagaki lit the second brazier. Taking her satchel from her shoulder, she knelt down and rummaged inside it, pulling out a book. “The ones I’ve seen before acted like normal doors. You pushed them, they opened. The quality of the engineering was marvellous.”

Tilly shrugged her shoulders, put aside her torch and gave the doors a push with no effect. Revna did likewise, putting her great double-headed axe on the floor and sliding her torch into a space on the brazier. Even with the added muscle of the big Khajiit, the doors didn’t move. Not even in the slightest. Even when Itagaki joined them, the doors remained steadfast and closed.

“Is there a counter-balance or something anywhere?” Itagaki was looking at the sides of the doors and then turned to look at the rest of the cavern. “Maybe something to do with the statues? Do they move?”

“I don’t think that’s it.” Öenthir flicked through the pages of the book she was holding trying to find something that would catch her eye. “The Ayleids usually used some kind of activator, like a Welkynd stone or a Soul Gem, but I’d rather not use another Soul Gem.”

“‘Another’?” Itagaki joined Öenthir. “What is a’Soul Gem’ and when have you used them before?”

“Well, it was a Soul Gem that I used to make the wayshrine work. Didn’t you know?” Öenthir was sure she had mentioned it, but, with everything that had been happening, it could have slipped her mind. “They’re magickal crystals used to hold the souls of animals. They’re a well known source of power. But I only have three left (and I shouldn’t even have those).”

“They have souls trapped in them?” Revna grimaced at the thought. She didn’t think it natural, that was clear. “That’s monstrous!”

“Only animal souls.” Öenthir looked up at everyone as Itagaki and Revna failed to hide their disgust at the idea. Tilly, as usual, didn’t seem to care. “Not humanoids. Besides, Soul Gems that can hold humanoid souls are very rare.”

“Animals, humans, mer, Khajiit or Argonian, it’s just wrong.” Revna seemed disappointed in her, but Öenthir couldn’t understand why. Mages had used Soul Gems forever. “No creature should have its soul trapped to be used for magick. Or for any other reason.”

Öenthir didn’t know what to say, but she hoped that these people, who she was beginning to consider her friends, didn’t think any less of her for something that mages had used for as long as Nirn had existed.

With nothing else to say, she returned to reading the book and finally found a page that she thought could be relevant. She stood up, shouldering her satchel again and, while still reading, walked closer to the doors. As she did so, a shrill sound erupted, echoing around the cavern.

“What is that?” Itagaki, her hands clasped over her ears, shouted to the others.

“I don’t know!” The sound was piercing, like knives in her brain and she could hardly think. Then she saw Tilly pointing at her, or, more to the point, at her satchel.

She looked down and there appeared to be a bright light erupting from within the battered leather pack. Dropping the book, she dragged the satchel from her shoulder, opening the flap and thrusting her hand inside. And then her hand emerged holding the Gem of Unison that they had tasked her with looking after.

It was glowing with a burning inner light and, somehow, the shrill noise appeared to be emanating from it too.

“Mage! The doors!” Revna seemed to be suffering the noise more than the others, on her knees with tears of pain in her eyes, but the Khajiit still managed to point at the stone doors that were blocking their progress.

The carving of the Ayleid Great Tree was glowing. The same bright blue colour that was coming from the Gem of Unison.

With a flash of understanding, Öenthir held out the Gem before her and approached the doors. Cautious, ignoring the pain from the sound the Gem was making, Öenthir, with great care, touched the Gem to the doors.

The glow from both the Gem and the carvings on the doors diminished and the screeching noise stopped, replaced by the noise of stone grinding upon stone as the doors began to open.

iv. Revna.

The doors opened in a slow, but smooth, movement. It surprised her that there appeared to be a soft blue light inside which seemed to creep out into the cavern that was even now becoming darker as Öenthir’s Mage Light began diminishing and dimming. The pain from the noise the Gem of Unison had made was also diminishing and Revna was glad of that.

Revna picked up her double-headed axe and held it at the ready, standing in front of the others. She, among all of them, was the least experienced in the strange things that Tamriel had to offer, she was quite certain. Her life in Skyrim had been hard, but monotonous, even dreary and normal. She had never ventured into any of the numerous barrows. Never delved into caves or explored any of the ruins from the centuries of to-ing and fro-ing of Skyrim politics.

Her mothers had retreated from their lives as Companions as soon as they had found Revna in the orphanage. They chose to take on new mantles, one to look after the home and their new child and one to earn the coin, perform the hunting, and they had taken on the Orc fashion of calling themselves Hearth-Mother and Shield-Mother, to give structure to Revna’s life. They had both had a hand in training their new child in the Nord fighting arts and they had both taught her that Nords lead the way in battle.

That was what Revna knew and that was what she did now, even though she had no idea what to expect beyond the Ayleid doors. She shifted her grip on the axe and made herself ready to swing at anything that came through the door and, when it finally finished opening, she found herself somewhat disappointed.

“Is this usual?” She didn’t relax, but this was not what she had expected.

Beyond the doorway stood an apparition. A ghost. Similar in height and features to an Altmer, but with the appearance of wearing different styled clothing. A high, pointed crown was upon the ghosts head and it stood with an easy authority, looking at the four companions with mild amusement.

“Finally!” The ghost’s voice had an echo, a reverberation to it that was far from natural, almost as if it was speaking from a great distance. “I’ve been waiting for you all for a long time. Find me in the final chamber and we shall speak there. Follow the mage, she knows the way. Or she will. Time can be so confusing.”

Before anyone could speak, the apparition faded away, the voice continuing to echo in the shadows. Revna looked towards Öenthir, confused and her look was soon copied by the others.

“Don’t look at me.” The mage stepped back a little under their combined questioning looks. “I’m as confused as you are.”

“Oh!” The ghost had reappeared, looking as if it had been walking away and had turned back towards them. “Try to keep your distance from the other spirits. They’ll leave you alone, mostly, but a quick swipe of a sword should break their essence apart. For a while, anyway.”

And the ghost disappeared again.

“Alright. Just what is going on here?” Revna relaxed and stood up straight, her hands dropping to her sides, and tapping the axe head against her leg showing only a little impatience. She was ready to fight, but no fight was happening.

“It’s like Wen said at the entrance. We were expected.” Tilly rested her arm on Öenthir’s shoulder. “Now, though, it’s looking more like an invite.”

“Then we have no choice but to accept the invitation.” Itagaki returned her long sword, with the usual ceremony, into its scabbard and drew its shorter companion, all the better for fighting in tighter spaces.

They all looked to the corridor beyond the doorway where the architecture, that they had found in the cavern, continued its theme inside. At various points along the corridor, strange flameless lights were sparking into life, continuing to give the impression that the invitation forward remained.

Revna sighed, she was beginning to become annoyed by the strangeness that she had been experiencing since her fateful punch in the face of the man at the inn. She had only wanted a drink while she was touring the holds of Skyrim until she could summon up the courage to return Jotnbann to the hands of her dead Shield-Mother.

She wasn’t sure that this kind of thing suited her sensibilities. Give her an enemy. Give her something to fight. That, she understood! Magickal bindings, cultists, broken down shrines that sent you from here to there in the blink of an eye, Scorpion bloody Black armour and now invites from ghosts? She couldn’t fight that.

But, she was a Nord, in her heart, at least, and Nords lead the way!

Hefting her battle axe once more, she stepped forward towards the doorway and, as she led the way, the others fell in behind her. Itagaki almost in line with her, on the left, Tilly a little further back and Öenthir behind her on the right.

“We’ve been invited. Let’s not keep our host waiting.” She strode with purpose, into the corridor and, as the last of the party passed beyond the doorway, the doors closed behind them, swift and smooth.


	12. Chapter 12

12

i. Öenthir.

The corridor continued on for another two hundred yards, or so, the flameless lights flickering on each time that they neared them. Soon, the corridor opened out into a room with an alcove on each side and it was here that they saw the first wandering spirit in the tomb.

The spirit floated in an aimless fashion, completely ignoring the group, or not sensing their presence at all. Öenthir noticed a skeleton, that had, most like, been the body of the spirit, laid on the floor in the corner of one of the alcoves, surrounded by camping paraphernalia. It had likely been some adventurer or treasure seeker that had somehow gained entry to the tomb but never managed to leave.

The room then gave way, through an archway that appeared carved whole from the rock, as the rest of the ruin seemed be, to a set of stairs leading downwards. The stairs lead into another room, this time of enormous size. Bigger than the cavern outside that they had left.

Upon entering the huge room, lights throughout the room came to life, forcing the shadows into the corners and revealing the intricate nature of the room. Columns rose from the floor and blended into the roof without any seams that they could see. An altar of some kind could was to one side and another, of a different design, on the other. Across from them, another set of stairs lead upwards and, in the centre, a circular dais held a well-like structure with sharp, horn shaped protrusions leaning in towards the centre and four tall columns of stone, parallel to the corners of the room, around it.

“An Ayleid well.” Öenthir whispered.

“A what?” Revna, ever at the ready, stood beside her, her eyes surveying their surroundings for possible threats.

“A source of healing and revitalisation.” She almost couldn’t stop herself from running down to start taking measurements and making notes, but she controlled her intellectual urges. “It looks completely drained though.”

They continued, down the stairs, stepping with caution forward and, as they did so, they began to see more of the wandering spirits and their corresponding, lifeless skeletons. There were ceremonial pots and chests dotted here and there and Öenthir found herself frustrated that she couldn’t take the time to examine and catalogue everything. She had to remind herself that she wasn’t here for research.

That was no more clear than when, upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, they ran into, or, more accurate, almost ran through one of the spirits. With a hiss, its eyes glowed bright as it reached a clawed, almost transparent hand out towards Öenthir. She jumped backwards, bumping into Tilly, but, no sooner had the spirit noticed them than a swing from Itagaki’s sword swept through it causing the apparition to howl an unnatural sound and to dissipate like smoke.

“Do not let them touch you!” Itagaki kept her sword at the ready, matching the surveying looks that Revna was performing, watching one side of the group as the Khajiit watched the other. “Their touch is the touch of the damned.”

“You’ve fought spirits before, then, Redguard?” Revna didn’t look at Itagaki, her constant moving eyes watching their surroundings.

“Once.” Was all the reply the Redguard seemed willing to give. “Let us keep moving.”

They edged their way across the floor of the room, taking wide circles whenever a spirit came close, until they reached the stairs on the other side. With no spirit ahead, that they could see, they soon ascended the stairs out of the great altar room and up into a room the twin of the one at the other side.

Except it wasn’t a twin. There was no corridor ahead, but a door of intricate forged metal was to the left and the alcoves, here, were in front and to the right and, in the centre of this room there were four skeletons, sat in a circle. The skeletons were almost perfectly articulated, almost all the bones still attached to each other by some unknown means and, as the party entered the room, all four skeleton heads twisted around on bony spines to look at them with sightless, eyeless sockets.

“Sithis’ soiled pants!” Tilly muttered under her breath and the sound of her daggers drawing accompanied it.

The skeletons, with surprising quietness, began to stand, each picking up a pitted, rusted sword that had lain beside them. At first, they did nothing, standing there in silence, staring at them with their unnerving empty eye sockets. The two groups stared at each other over the short distance, neither seeming to want to move.

“How about if we just, you know, slowly and carefully run?” Tilly gripped and re-gripped her daggers. “I mean, the skinny bastards have no muscles. They can’t run that fast, surely.”

“I think they heard you, Tilly.” Öenthir watched as all the toothy skeleton heads turned to look only at Tilly.

That was when the skeletons attacked, lipless mouths opening in silent war cries, as they launched themselves at the party and Öenthir cursed the day she had refused to join the other students when they had sneaked in to the Guild library to snatch spell books well above their levels. Because now she was stuck between skeletons in front of her, or ghosts behind her and not one of her pitiful spells was going to be of any use.

ii. Itagaki.

The skeletons were fast. Very fast. Itagaki had bare enough time to lift her sword to block the first blow and a second sword was already swinging for her throat. She ducked, stepped sideways and swept her sword upwards towards the bony wrist of the first skeleton. The skeleton was as fast, though, stepping backwards and swatting its sword downwards to parry Itagaki’s.

She saw this, though, changing her swords direction, mid-swing, looping it in an arc away from the parry and using the momentum to swipe towards the neck of the second skeleton. Again, their speed amazed Itagaki as the second skeleton bobbed out of reach of her swing with ease.

She glanced across from her to see Revna locked together with another of the skeletons, its sword trapped in the ‘horns’ of the Khajiit’s axe head and, in that small pause, the first skeleton took advantage. A bony shoulder slammed into her, with surprising weight, sending her stumbling backwards and leaving her at the mercy of the second skeleton as it thrust its sword towards her chest.

Using the momentum that the body strike had given her, she rolled backwards and was back on her feet in one fluid move. She feinted left then made a diving forward roll to the right, finishing on her feet once again, spinning around to slash at the back of the second skeleton. Her sword clattered against the spine and ribcage, chipping off bone, but causing little damage.

“Don’t dance, Redguard!” Revna caught the wrist of one of her skeletons, twisted its arms out of the way and, with one mighty swing, brought the flat of her axe down like a hammer onto its skull, shattering it into pieces and knocking the rest of the skeleton crashing to the floor. “Smash!

Revna’s victory was short lived, though, as her other skeleton had found a way to her rear and swung a slashing sweep across the back of the Khajiit. Revna howled in pain and turned towards her silent, skeletal opponent, her eyes burning with rage.

In the sliver of a moment where all the skeletons had seemed to pause, recognising the final demise of their comrade, Itagaki had taken the advantage and unsheathed her long sword. Standing, now, in a dual-sword stance, she waited for the next attack.

It came soon enough, both skeletons swung their swords. One high, one low. But Itagaki had prepared, parrying both blows then launching her counter-attack. The exchange was furious and with such great speed that it almost became a blur even to Itagaki. Strike and counter-strike, move, slip, swipe, parry, duck, weave. Blow after blow. And Itagaki did dance. The dance of a consummate warrior.

When the opportunity came, she took it immediately. The tiniest of things. The smallest of slips. One skeleton stood upon the bones of its fallen comrade, its balance off-centre by the barest amount, its stance broken for a fraction of a second. Bashing its sword aside, Itagaki spun on the ball of her foot, launching a perfect arcing kick that knocked the head of the skeleton flying far into the distance.

She followed through with her leg completing the arc and landed in a wide stance, a short distance apart from the second skeleton, launching herself forward trapping her swords, crossed, within its rib cage and then separating her arms, tearing apart ribs, spine and arms in one fantastic dual sweep. What remained of the skeleton crumpled to the floor.

With her side of the battle complete, she spun around to render aid to her comrade, but it wasn’t needed. Somehow, both Revna and the skeleton had lost their weapons, but this worked to the Khajiit’s advantage. Picking up the skeleton, Revna lifted it high above her head and with a guttural, throaty roar, she smashed it hard against the floor, sending bones and fragments flying in all directions leaving only a thigh bone in her hand which she tossed aside in disgust.

“That ... that was a good fight!” Revna was shaking with excitement, her teeth bared and her eyes flashing with fervour. She looked around for a bit and saw her axe on the ground. Lifting it up, she kissed the double-head and swung it in triumph.

Itagaki, however, was more worried about her other two companions. They both appeared to be fine, however. Tilly had been standing with her two daggers, the ‘Sisters’, at the ready, but Öenthir was already moving towards Revna.

“Throw the bones over the side.” She shouted over her shoulder. “I don’t think they’ll reform, but better safe than sorry.”

And then she was checking Revna’s back that had taken the blow, muttering to herself about people not being careful.

“Do me a favour.” Tilly began as she and Itagaki started tossing the skeleton bones down into the altar room, “If any of you people ever turn evil, remind me not to try fighting any of you.”

Itagaki said nothing, continuing to discard the bones, but she did look over at the Khajiit. She didn’t have Itagaki’s skills, but she more than made up for that with her strength and sheer brutality. She didn’t foresee any time in the future where she would have to fight her, but it would be a battle for the ages if they did, that was for sure. Especially if Revna was wearing that armour. The mage had finished examining the Khajiit’s back and was almost scratching her head at what she had found.

There was no wound. There wasn’t even a scratch on the black leather. It was possible some tales of the armour of Scorpion Black were not myths after all.

iii. Revna.

For the second time in less than two hours she had fought monsters and had taken a big hit, yet had suffered little more than a scratch or a bruise. She considered that, if pressed, the armour that she was wearing was not such a burden after all. She had to be careful, though. She didn’t want to end up relying upon the properties of the armour to save her life in the future, that would lead to mistakes that could cost her her life, or worse, the lives of her comrades.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” The Bosmer mage was fussing over Revna. “I mean, there’s no cut or anything, but that was a hard blow.”

“I told you,” Revna stepped away, self-conscious of the attention, “I’m fine. I shouldn’t be, but I am. I just let my guard down. It won’t happen again.”

That was for a certainty. She lost concentration in the heat of the battle and had almost paid for it. She had been lucky, but she had learnt from it. Life, and enemies, outside of Skyrim was very different and she would adapt. If her mothers had taught her anything, it was that. A warrior must be ready for anything and expect nothing until it is right there in front of her. Plans were all good and well, but often got lost in the ever changing field of a fight.

She hefted her axe and moved to join Itagaki and Tilly, who were examining a door at the left of the room. Öenthir followed her and Revna could tell that she still had concerns, but Revna wasn’t lying. She was, in truth, fine.

“There’s no lock to pick!” Tilly threw her arms up and turned away from Itagaki. “How can I pick a lock that isn’t there?”

“Then what use are you, dark elf?” Itagaki stared at the door, her hands on her hips.

“Maybe you should just press the button?” Öenthir had stepped forward and pointed to a square of rock, about a foot on each side, with a small blue crystal in the centre. Neither Itagaki nor Tilly had noticed it, but the wood elf mage had seen it straight away.

As she pressed the button, a click echoed around the room and the door opened with a musical tinkling noise. Beyond the door a set of steps led upwards and, as before, flameless lights flickered into life at their approach.

Revna looked at Itagaki, her short sword still at the ready, and could sense the angry irritation through the binding. It was clear there was some conflict between the Redguard and Tilly, which surprised Revna, considering the intensity of the feelings from the night before. As usual, Revna felt nothing from Tilly. How was that possible? Was the binding weaker with the dark elf, or did she not have emotions at all? Revna was certain that she had transmitted her own pain through the binding, earlier, which was, in all likelihood, why Öenthir had been so concerned, but Tilly? Revna could not say for certain she had received any feelings from the Dunmer at all.

Regardless, both Revna and Itagaki took the lead once more, the Redguard once again projecting a stoic countenance. The stairs went upwards for quite a distance before levelling out to a small landing with a corridor to the left. As the lighting fixtures came to life, Revna could see rows, on both sides of the corridor, of some kind of sconces, each holding a large blue crystal.

“Am I the only one that thinks this doesn’t make any sense?” Revna looked back at Tilly. The dark elf was frowning as she turned back from looking behind them. “All of this can’t possibly be carved into the cliffs we came through. Can it?”

“Magick, little elf.” Revna shrugged her shoulders. “It’s here, that’s all there is to know.”

“Well, ‘big cat’, I need more of an explanation than that.” Tilly tried to grab Öenthir’s attention. “What do you think, Wen?”

“What? I ... umm ... yes. Magick. Probably.” The mage found herself lost in her own little world again. She had been in wide-eyed awe since they had entered the corridor, moving from one sconce held crystal to another. “I’ve never seen so many Welkynd stones in my life.”

“Welk what?” Tilly joined Öenthir and poked the crystal with a finger. “Are they worth anything?”

“Yes and no.” Öenthir slapped Tilly’s hand before she poked the crystal again. “To you or other everyday people, they’re not worth a scrape of gold off a coin, but to scholars ... to scholars, they’re priceless. Even these that have lost all their power.”

“So, that’s a ‘no’ then. Scholars barely have two coins to rub together anyway. Too much thinking going on in their brains.” Tilly lost interest in the Welkynd stones and looked around again. “You know, there’s not been an ounce of treasure in here. What a waste of time.”

Revna had been half-listening to the conversation. She and Itagaki had been more concerned about what lay ahead. They could see that the corridor was coming to an end and could sense, rather than see, that the room ahead was big. A musty smell drifted under their noses as they edged forward and, as they set foot across the threshold of the room, lights everywhere sprang into life.

“Wen!” Revna called over her shoulder. “I think we’ve found your treasure.”

“Treasure?” Tilly sprang forward to join them, but her face fell into disappointment immediately. “Where?”

“Not you’re kind of treasure, little elf.” Revna laughed at the dark elf and moved backwards towards Öenthir who was still deep in a fascinated examination of the Welkynd stones. “You’re kind, Wen.”

With gentleness, and with not a little amount of struggling from Öenthir, Revna took hold of the mage’s shoulders. Turning her away from the crystals in the sconces, Revna helped the Bosmer along to the end of the corridor.

“Oh. Oh, my.” The wood elf clasped her hands to her mouth and her eyes became watery as she left Revna’s hands and stepped into the room. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”

iv. Tilly.

What was so beautiful about books, anyway?

The wood elf was almost in tears as she moved from one book shelf to another, almost unable to stop herself from trying to just touch every book that she could. She was like a giddy school girl. Giggling, clapping her hands in excitement. And that big oaf and Tilly’s frosty one-night lover were standing there laughing at the mage!

Tilly pulled a book from the nearest shelf, coughing at the dust the action had raised. It was thin, they all were, she was surprised to find. She flicked through the pages, with scribbled, tiny words and strange illustrations of which Tilly had no comprehension of at all. It was all garbled nonsense, to her.

“Oh! Oh! That is interesting!” Öenthir had run over to Tilly as soon as she had touched the book. “That’s a spell book. My Ayleid is a bit rusty, but I think it’s for something called ‘crystal shard’. Fascinating! This whole book case seems to be for spells and over here, it’s all historical volumes, and there ...”

“I don’t care.” She dropped the book on top of the others and brushed the dust from her hands.

Öenthir let out a little shriek at Tilly’s manhandling of the spell book. She lifted it from where Tilly had dropped it and, with care and reverence, replaced it to its proper position on the book shelf. But Tilly’s disinterest did nothing to dampen the mage’s enthusiasm. Straight away, the Bosmer had scuttled away and was looking at yet another bookcase, her eyes so wide, Tilly thought they were about to pop.

While everybody’s attention was on either the books or on Öenthir’s excited gushing about the books, Tilly slipped three of the books from the shelf, including the one she had flipped through, and stuffed them into the band of her breeches, hidden by her ageing noble’s coat. If there was nothing else of value in this Divine’s forsaken tomb, it was possible she could make some coin on the books instead.

“Mage!” The big oaf was shouting at the wood elf, her stupid face had that bared teeth look that believed to be a smile. “We must continue. You know where this place is, now. You can come back after we have returned all the gems.”

“But what if I can’t? What if this is my only chance? What if I ...” Itagaki had grabbed the mages shoulders and stared deep into the almost fevered eyes of the Bosmer.

“We will come back. I promise you.” The words were calm, relaxing, but they only seemed to work a little. Öenthir almost hopped from foot to foot, frowning, looking at all the bookshelves. Itagaki gave the mage a gentle shake. “I promise.”

“We promise.” Now the cat was even joining in, her hand on the mage’s arm. “There’s a dead Ayleid mage waiting to be spoken to. Isn’t that just as exciting?”

Öenthir appeared to be in several minds and Tilly could almost see her brain working through all the options. Tilly could almost understand what she was going through. What if they had found a room full of gold? Tilly doubted the others would have been able to drag her away, at least, not without her pockets and every other receptacle filled with gold.

“Oh, for Oblivion’s sake! Just pick the bloody girl up and carry her!” Tilly may almost understand her, but she was hardly going to baby her along. “I want to get this over and done with, as soon as possible, not stand here treating her like a delicate egg!”

“Wen, we can’t be too far from the last chamber. Let’s just finish this, yes?” Itagaki, and everyone else, ignored Tilly. The mage blinked several times and then slumped her shoulders.

“Alright. Alright.” She sighed and took one last look at the rows and rows of shelves before setting her face in determination. “You’re right. The final chamber shouldn’t be far now.”

Tilly threw her arms up in desperation and started walking to the other end of the library where she could see yet another intricate metal door. She didn’t wait for the others.

The door, once again, didn’t have any lock that she could see and she looked to both sides to find the stone switch that would open it. Soon, the others caught up and Tilly pressed the large stone button.

The lock clicked and the familiar tinkling sound preceded the door opening wide.


	13. Chapter 13

13

i. Öenthir.

Once again, lights sprang into life as they entered the next chamber. This one, however was not as grand, or as large as the others they encountered. It appeared to be a square room, some twenty feet by twenty feet and, in the centre of the room, there was a great stone chair, upon which sat another skeleton.

The group all edged forward, wary after the encounter they had had with the four skeletons that had attacked them. The skeleton did not move, its skull, resting on its fleshless fist which, in turn, rested by the elbow upon the arm of the chair.

The skeleton had been tall, when it had been alive. Taller than Revna, Öenthir thought. Remnants of fine cloth, now rotted and threadbare, still clung to the skeleton and a tall crown rested upon the skull. The crown had what looked like thorns made from metal rising up from the base and, in their twisting, delicate detail, there appeared to be a small, empty space.

“That must be the Ayleid mage.” Öenthir stayed beside Revna, despite itching to examine the skeleton.

“Indeed, it was.” The voice had come from behind and the entire group turned, as one, to face the way they had come. “I am Gwinilden and this is my tomb.”

The door had closed in silence behind them and there stood the ghost-like apparition that they had seen before. It seemed to be more distinct, here in the chamber with its skeleton. Less like a ghost and more like a figure made from morning fog.

“You are one of the mages that cursed these gems?” Revna had stepped between the mage’s ghost and the others, holding her axe at the ready. “Innocent people have died because of you and those Shor’s damned stones!”

Öenthir put her hand on Revna’s arm, pulling her back. There was no telling what this mage could do. The sheer power the mage must have had to create the Gems of Unison must have been incredible. Even now she could feel the raw magicka of the gem inside her satchel, waiting to reunite with its master.

“I assure you, that was not the intent.” The mage’s apparition wavered and it bowed its head. “The curse was a deterrent. A last barrier to keep the gems from the hands of mortals that would misuse the great power we had infused within the stones.”

“Intent or no, the curse is killing people that had no part in their taking.” Itagaki had sheathed her sword, sensing that there would be no battle here, or, at least, no battle that steel could win. “Why?”

“The curse was supposed to have been an irritant. A repeating message that would grow louder and more insistent the longer the gems were not returned to us.” The spirit, its hands clasped as if in prayer, glided from the doorway towards the stone chair and its skeleton. “Little did I know that Æfiror, the Nord mage, had changed the effect of the curse without my knowledge. If I had known, I would have stopped him, of course.”

“Why didn’t you change it when you found out?” Tilly had been examining the crown and, disappointed that it wasn’t of a precious metal, had rejoined the group. “If this Effieroar bloke had changed it, why couldn’t you?”

“Unlike Æfiror and the dwarf, Onzngknd, I had put my all into the gems, as I thought they were also doing. Alas, I was wrong. I was diminished almost completely. They were not.” The spirit looked upon the bones that were once his and Öenthir realised that that was what the skeleton looked like. It looked tired. “I was barely able to create this tomb before my strength, and my body, failed me, while the others lived on. For a while, at least.”

“Did you make your tomb the easiest to find purposefully? So that whoever was cursed could find you and break the curse?” Öenthir had so many questions to ask the Ayleid ghost that she didn’t know where to begin. “Where are the other tombs? How did you know we were coming? The lit torches, the lights leading the way.”

“Child! Child! So many questions and yet more left unasked, I sense.” The apparition waved its hand in mock exasperation. “One of the few abilities left to me was the foretelling. I saw your coming together. I saw you within my tomb, speaking to me and returning the gem, and I have foreseen what comes after, alas. Come. See.”

The ghost of Gwinilden floated to one side of the room and passed its hand across the face of the wall. At first nothing happened, but then lines began to appear. Blue lines that crawled upon the wall, joining together, branching apart, circling, twisting, until they finally stopped and Öenthir gasped.

“It’s Tamriel.” With a rush, she tore her satchel from her shoulder and began searching through it. “It’s a map of Tamriel and look ...”

Pulling out one of her own maps, she unfolded it and held it up to compare to the one on the wall. Forcing Tilly to hold one side, she used her free hand to point to the wall map and then her own.

“That bright spot, right there. That’s here! That’s this tomb. And here and here ...” Twice more, she pointed to the wall map and her own, indicating two more places. “Those are the other tombs. I know where they are! We know where to go!”

Dropping her side of the map, Öenthir ignored the look Tilly gave and dived into her satchel again, pulling out a box holding a pen, ink and a small blotter. Taking the map from Tilly, she smoothed it out on the floor and marked off the positions of the other tombs, before blotting them dry.

“Then we have what we need to complete our task and be free of this binding!” Itagaki looked over Öenthir’s shoulder at the map.

“You do, but I fear your task will only become more dangerous from now on.” Gwinilden’s ghost floated back towards its skeleton upon the stone chair. “Æfiror and Onzngknd‘s tombs will be a far greater challenge than my own.”

“Worse than walking skeletons?” Revna, groaned at the prospect of more strangeness, but was gleeful, too, at the opportunity for more battle.

“Far, far worse.”

ii. Itagaki.

The spirit of Gwinilden hovered beside the great stone chair, seeming to have tired. The others gathered around Öenthir as she studied both the map on the wall and the mage’s map on the floor, but Itagaki had questions that she needed answering.

“How did you know we were coming?” It was a simple question, but she had distinct feelings towards free will and destiny. She needed to know if destiny had trapped her, or whether her future choices and actions could make a difference.

“I have very little power left. Access to far fewer magicks than I once had, but foreseeing future events is still something I am capable of.” The Ayleid spirit seemed to take great effort to raise his head to speak. “The sands of time fall where they will, but each grain is touched and affected by the grains around it. The probability of where the grain will land can be calculated, speculated, but one only knows for certain where the grain will land only when it does, indeed, land.”

“So, you did not know for certain?” The mage was circling the answer she was seeking, whether she was responsible for her actions or whether she was only a piece in a cosmic board game. “It was not destiny that brought us here?”

“Destiny? Destiny is just another word for all the grains falling together at the right time.” Gwinilden’s ghost seemed to be fading, his voice growing more distant. “The probabilities fell into place, this time, and I anticipated your arrival. I had been disappointed before, but the sands of time continued to fall. And you are here now. Your choices have consequences, good and bad, in the past and the future, but nothing is certain until it comes to pass.”

Gwinilden faded away completely for a second and there was a great rumbling. Dust fell from the roof and then the entire room shook, violent shifts breaking their stances. Then, as the ghost reappeared, the rumbling and the shaking stopped. Only dust continued to fall. Itagaki’s companions all raced to the stone chair, and Gwinilden.

“What in Molag Bal’s wet dreams was that?” Tilly had reached the centre of the room first, her first look was to see if Itagaki was alright.

“The sands of time are running short for me. I fear that this is almost the end.” The ghost of Gwinilden attempted to touch his own skeleton, but his hand faded through the bones that was once his body. “Quickly. You must replace the Gem of Unison within my coronet, I cannot hold the construct much longer without it.”

Öenthir dove a hand into her satchel and pulled out the Gem of Unison, pulsing now with a deep blue glow. She tried to place the gem within the hole in the crown’s ‘thorns’, but couldn’t reach. She looked around, but Revna had already stepped forward, taking the gem and placed it within its setting in the crown.

The effect was immediate. Gwinilden’s ghost seemed to almost sigh with relief and then began to float. towards his skeleton. The ghostly form of the Ayleid mage seemed to stretch, pieces of the apparition broke away and sped towards the skeleton until the entire spirit merged into the very bones of the figure on the chair.

The eye sockets of the skeleton then began to glow, the same pulsing blue as the Gem of Unison had displayed. The skeleton straightened its back, its hands falling to rest upon the arms of the chair.

But the biggest change happened in the minds of the bound companions. In an instant, from having the background buzz of the repeating words of the curse in three distinct voices. There was now one less. It had worked and Gwinilden’s part of the curse had now lifted. They could all feel it and a sense of relief come through the binding, all the way from Skyrim, where Jarl Borgun had felt the release as they had.

“It can be done.” Revna almost had a look of relief on her face, as if she hadn’t believed that it was possible at all. “We can break the curse and be free of the binding.”

“It can, indeed, be done, Khajiit.” The voice of Gwinilden was now coming from the mouth of the mage’s skeleton. It was even more eerie than when it had been a ghost. “But know this, your journey is far from finished. There will be obstacles in your path. Great danger. Some of you will face choices that may not have any good repercussions.”

“And what of you, Gwinilden?” The skeleton turned its glowing eyes towards Itagaki and they seemed to burn deep into her soul.

“I will linger, for a short while longer. That is a choice I must make and I must face the consequences of that choice.” The skeleton raised a hand and, with a burning blue fire, the edges of a previously hidden doorway, on the wall behind the chair, appeared. “You must go. This door will return you to the surface. Do not tarry and do not look back.”

“But, what about your library? All those books! What will happen to them?” After everything that happened to them, it was the prospect of losing the books that had panicked Öenthir the most.

“Alas, they will be lost along with the memory of me.” Gwinilden’s skeleton looked at Tilly, then. “Besides, Öenthir of Grahtwood, you will soon be given all that you can handle. For now.”

Itagaki saw the look the skeleton had made towards the dark elf. She also saw the instinctive way that Tilly touched the back of her noble’s coat. She wondered what that entailed.

The door behind Gwinilden’s stone chair had fully opened now, revealing only darkness beyond. Tilly shrugged her shoulders and almost ran through the doorway. Revna, consoling an Öenthir distraught at losing access to the great library they had found, led the Bosmer into the opening. Itagaki prepared to leave herself.

“The sand falls in many different patterns, Itagaki of the Twin Swords tribe.” The skeleton’s glowing eye sockets held her in its gaze. “Have a care with your companions. They will face choices, choices that they will make in good faith, choices they will make for the best reasons, but those choices could have dire consequences for them, you and possibly all of Nirn.”

The skeleton’s head turned to face forwards and the glow in the eyes dimmed, but did not go out. Itagaki considered herself dismissed and the words that Gwinilden had said reverberated through her mind as she moved to the door and what awaited her beyond.

iii. Tilly.

The light outside the entrance was bright and blinding, but very welcoming. As her eyes adjusted, Tilly breathed deep, savouring the fresh air, despite the dry heat. It was far better than the musty, ancient air that she had been breathing in the tomb.

The cat and the mage soon followed her into the open air. The mage almost in tears at the loss of all those stuffy books. Tilly could not understand why Öenthir was so upset. You could find books anywhere. What was so important about those? Tilly rarely read books. The words always seemed to waffle on about things that she had no interest in. Her eyes would usually glaze over before she could even finish a single page.

She thought about the books that she had taken, tucked safe in her breeches beneath her noble’s coat. Now that she thought of it, she wouldn’t get much coin for them and she’d only hold on to them until she got what she felt would be a fair price. And she couldn’t stand to be around sniffly, tearful people. It made her retch.

“Here.” She reached under her coat and pulled out the books, shoving them towards the Bosmer. “Will these make you stop crying?”

Öenthir furrowed her brow at the gifts. With great care, she opened the covers of each one in turn and read the first page and, as she did so, her eyes began to widen, along with her smile. Soon, she clutched them to her chest and looked at Tilly with a strange expression. Part happy, part tearful. Tilly found it confusing.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you.” The little wood elf dived at Tilly, wrapping her arms around her and squeezing tight. “You’re not so bad, after all.”

“Yeah. Well.” Tilly didn’t know what to do, pulling herself away from the emotional embrace. It didn’t help that the big oaf of a Khajiit was almost laughing. “I found them and thought you’d want them.”

“‘Found’ them. Ha!” The cat walked away, making playful swings at the ground with her axe.

Finally extricating herself from the the mage’s arms, Tilly looked back towards the cave entrance. Itagaki should have been right behind them and it was with no little relief for Tilly when the Redguard finally emerged from the cave. Walking as if it was any other day, a thoughtful look upon her beautiful face.

Tilly stepped forward, eager to greet her, but Itagaki walked past. The Redguard looked at Tilly, then at the mage and then continued walking towards Revna, who had found Finds-Things-Not-Lost at the edge of the valley’s pool of water.

Before Tilly could say anything, though, the ground shook, much like it had in the tomb. This time, the shaking lasted longer. The noise more dulled. The sound was coming from the cave they had all left mere seconds before and, as Tilly turned towards the entrance, she saw great gouts of dust explode from within. The shaking stopped soon after.

“He waited until we’d all left.” Öenthir, still clutching the books as if they might disappear at any moment, spoke almost with sadness. The mage looked down at the books in her hands. “This is all that’s left. Of him, the library, all those artefacts. All gone.”

The mage turned and began walking to the others, opening a book and reading as she went. Tilly took one last look at the cave, dust still floating in the air, and shook her head. Old things should stay buried.

Following Öenthir back to the others, she found Finds-Things had managed to fashion a make-shift shelter from some reeds and the white cloak the Khajiit had been wearing. Of course she would. That woman could find comfort on a bed of nails.

“And finally the gallant heroes emerged from the lair of the evil necromancer. Triumphant. Victorious and wiser than when they had entered.” Finds-Things saluted them with a raised water-skin. “I take it you accomplished your task?”

“He wasn’t evil.” Revna was at the pool side, breaking off several reeds and examining them. “He was just an old man that had made a mistake a long time ago.”

“Evil. Not evil. The tales that will be told and the songs that will be sung will decide that.” Finds-Things waved a vague hand and took a sip of water.

“Who’s going to tell tales of this?” Tilly scoffed at the thought. “It’s hardly a heroic epic!”

“Why, I will, my sweet princess!” She winked at Tilly. “Your faithful and fiercely loyal guide (who also happens to be a merchant with exceptionally fine goods at equally fine prices), who waited for the return of the great Scorpion Black reborn (memorabilia available at the lowest prices) from the maw of the ancient mage’s dour tomb!”

“You wily old bugger!” Tilly had a flash of understanding. “That’s why you were so keen to come with us. This is all advertising for you, isn’t it?”

“I may profit, a substantially tiny amount, from this venture, yes.” Avoiding the eyes of everyone, Finds-Things smirked to herself.

“And this armour. This was part of your ‘advertising’, was it?” Revna had moved towards the Argonian and towered above her, staring down.

“It seemed like too much of an opportunity to miss. You needed armour, you were the right size and you were going on a grand adventure.” Finds-Things scrambled backwards out of the shadow of the cat’s huge body. “Just because it may, or may not, have been Scorpion Black’s armour was the whole point. I just wanted my business to be associated with something ... special. I’m sorry!”

“Well,” Revna loomed over the cringing Argonian. “Thank you. This armour may have saved my life.”

“I’m sorry! I’ll refund your ... What?” Finds-Things stopped scrambling and looked up at the big oaf’s grinning face, confused. “You aren’t going to kill me, are you?”

“I will keep the armour, you have your ‘advertising’.” Revna began to move away towards the horses, a clutch of reeds in her hand. “If it wasn’t for this armour, I might not be walking, or might even be dead. Twice it saved me where other armour may not. Scorpion Black’s armour or not, it does its job well.”

“So, she’s not going to kill me?” Blinking up from the ground, her usually immaculate clothes covered in dusty sand, Finds-Things looked with questioning eyes at Tilly.

“No. She’s not.” Tilly glanced at Revna and then looked down again at Finds-Things. “The day’s not over yet, though.”

Tilly snatched the water-skin from her Argonian friend’s hand and took a great gulp. The Khajiit’s teasing and Finds-Things’ reaction had tickled Tilly’s funny bone. She still didn’t want to think of the oaf as a friend, she was stubborn like that, but the cat kept displaying a fun side. And that, Tilly could appreciate. That and the Khajiit’s brute strength had come in handy more than once. Was it too much to imagine that she wasn’t that bad after all?

iv. Revna.

The worst of the mid-day heat had passed by while they had explored Gwinilden’s tomb and Revna was thankful of that. Even so, she still despised the dry heat that seemed to scorch her throat as she breathed, the prickling of her skin, even through her fur, and the uncomfortable heaviness of the heat that still fell upon her through the ‘shield’ of the bright, white cloak. She missed Skyrim.

The journey back to Abah’s Landing seemed to be taking even longer than the one to get there. Everyone had become tired. Grumpy, even. Tilly kept looking towards Itagaki. Itagaki stared dead ahead, lost in thoughts that she did not yet seem willing to share. Öenthir was able to read one of her new books as she rode, looking up every so often to ensure she was still with the group and had not parted ways in her distraction. And Finds-Things-Not-Lost. She was happy, having severed the head of the troll they had killed and attached it, in a bag, to the saddle of her horse.

“What’s happening between you and the Redguard?” She had sidled her horse up beside Tilly and matched speeds. “What did you do this time?”

“None of your damned business, cat!” The dark elf snapped at Revna, but she took it with humour. Tilly looked like she needed a friend. The Dunmer’s shoulders slumped, somewhat, and turned a cross eye to Revna. “I don’t know. Alright? Everything was fine, last night, and then she was like this in the morning. It’s beyond me.”

“I think it is ‘beyond’ you, if I’m honest.” Revna could tell that Tilly didn’t like that confirmation. She scowled at Revna. “Look, I don’t know much about love, but I don’t think you do, either. You don’t feel things the same way as most people do. That much we can tell through the binding.”

“Now, you listen here ...” Tilly reined in her horse and turned in the saddle towards Revna who raised her hand to bring the dark elf’s tirade short.

“Hear me out. Please.” She waited to see if Tilly acquiesced, “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I don’t know if it’s just who you are or what you’ve become, but what emotions do you actually feel or, more importantly, show? You get angry, but I never feel it through the binding. You laugh, you’ve had sex, and we get nothing from you. We all felt Itagaki through the binding, but not you.”

“I feel! I ... I ...” Tilly fought for the right words, her eyes stared at the ground, twitching as if she were reviewing something on a piece of paper. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Look, it’s none of my business, you’re right, but this binding complicates things.” Revna looked up the trail. The others had slowed down, but not stopped, as she and Tilly talked. “She can’t feel what you’re feeling and telling her how you feel won’t be enough. You have to show her. If you really do feel something for her and it’s not just sex, you have to show her that it’s real.”

Revna reached over and put her hand on Tilly’s arm and tried to give a comforting smile. She knew the Dunmer had listened. When she didn’t snatch her hand away. There was progress on that front, at least.

Leaving Tilly to her thoughts, Revna kicked her horse to catch up to the others arriving in the middle of a conversation.

“No, no. It is a foul place. No, you will stay with me as guests of my meagre household.” Finds-Things was waving aside comments with her hand. “For a small rent, of course. No. Black Marsh has nothing of interest. Kotu Gava, swamps, crocodiles, swamps, wamasu and more swamps. You’re feet will never feel dry again.”

“Nevertheless, Argonian, that is where we must go next.” Seeing Revna arrive, Itagaki. Gave her a questioning look that Revna answered with a shake of the head. What she and Tilly had talked about was private, for now. “Unless Revna wishes to go back to Skyrim first?”

“Ugh. Skyrim!” Finds-Things-Not-Lost made a disgusted face.

“I think I know the tomb in Skyrim, if the map is accurate?” She looked at Öenthir and saw her nod with enthusiasm. “Then, no, I don’t wish to go there. At least, not yet.”

“Then it is settled. We go to Black Marsh.” For Itagaki, that had indeed settled the matter, she turned her horse’s head and continued on.

“I had such plans for you all. We could have been rich.” The Argonian slumped in her saddle.

“You already are rich, you greedy bugger!” Tilly had caught up and it was as if the conversation with Revna had never happened. She was immediately back to normal.

“All right, rich-er, then.” Finds-Things gave Tilly a cheeky grin.

“What’s so bad about Black Marsh, anyway? Is it not where Argonians come from?” Revna didn’t quite understand why Finds-Things had such a strong reaction against the area. Not that Revna knew much about the place herself.

“Some Argonians. The ones who have slipped into barbarism, tossing aside the civilisation their ancestors created. Worshipping trees! By the Divines!” She rolled her eyes at the thought. “No, the only thing I share with those primitives is my tail. As to what’s so bad about the place? Everything, my dear kitty-Khajiit, everything is bad.”

Revna thought about what Finds-Things-Not-Lost had said about Black Marsh and, combined with what she had experienced in Hew’s Bane, concluded that Skyrim was the only normal place in the entirety of Tamriel. Everywhere else seemed far too strange. Too different. She didn’t even want to think about how much worse Black Marsh could be.

She also thought about the third tomb. The one that was awaiting them in Skyrim and the one that was so close to where Ingrstad had once stood. Was it a coincidence that they would have to go there? Revna did not know, but she had heard the tales of Deep Frost Barrow. She had heard of the great warriors entombed within and she felt as though thinking about them was dishonouring their names, let alone venturing within the Barrow and disturbing the rest of the venerated ancients.

But the worst thing would definitely be being so close to the place she had called home. The place where her mothers had died and where she had become more alone than she had ever been.

v. Gwinilden’s tomb.

Itagaki had left through the door and it had finally finished closing. Gwinilden, now returned to the remains of his body, reunited with his Gem of Unison, sat upon his great stone chair and waited. His time was almost over. The sands were trickling their last, but there was one more thing to happen before he left Nirn forever.

“Are you going to keep me waiting for the rest of eternity?” He turned his skeletal head to his left where shadows clung to the walls. Unnatural shadows.

“No, Gwinilden. I will not.” One of the shadows detached itself from the others. A vague outline of the man, or mer, that had invaded the tomb.

“And still you hide yourself. Why?” Gwinilden watched as the shadow came to hover before him.

“One cannot be too careful. You are weak, but you may still be able to tell them who I am.” The shadow seemed to stand up straight, seemed to hold its hands behind its back. “My master does not want them to know anything of us. Not quite yet.”

“Ah. Your ‘master’.” A cackling chuckle emerged from Gwinilden’s skull. “He’s lying to you, of course. That’s what he does. The Gems of Unison will not stop the Three Banners War. That will end in its own good time.”

“More of your probabilities, Gwinilden?” The shadow circled around the ancient Ayleid mage. “And what of my future? Do you see the great things I and my comrades will achieve?”

“You will achieve nothing but death and chaos.” Gwinilden didn’t try to follow the shadow’s movements. He stared ahead with the feint glow in the sockets of his skull.

“We will become gods!” The vagueness of the shadow sharpened in its outburst, almost revealing the person behind the façade. “We will bring peace to Tamriel, to the whole of Nirn, and that peace will last forever, as we will last forever!”

“You are a fool. You and your comrades.” Again, the clicking, cackling chuckle. “You will fail, as all such foolish ventures are want to fail, and you will be forgotten. You are merely the tiniest ripple on a mighty ocean within a mighty storm. You are small.”

“Small? Small?” The hand of the shadow lashed out and some invisible force closed around the skeletal form of Gwinilden. “Then what are you? Nothing but a pitiful echo of a mer too cowardly to utilise the great power he had wrought, brought low by time when you could have ruled the world. No, I am not small. I am the mighty storm!”

The other hand of the shadow reached out. Without the shadow even touching Gwinilden, it plucked the Gem of Unison from the coronet upon the Ayleid’s head and, as it did so, the final light in the eye sockets of the skull dimmed and then vanished.

With Gwinilden’s spirit gone from the skeleton, it began to crumble, soon becoming dust, mingling with the sand upon the floor. The room began to rumble and shake, then, but the shadow seemed unperturbed, gazing at the gem in its indistinct hand.

“I am not small. We are not. We will let the little people, bound in their quest, pave the way for us and we will take what is rightfully ours.” The shadow waved a hand and a portal opened, even as the room around it began crumbling, rock falling all around. “And then the whole of Nirn will thank us and praise us, for we will bring peace and order to everyone.”

The shadow entered the portal as the room that had once been the tomb of Gwinilden, most puissant of all the Ayleid mages, fell and collapsed. Now lost and forgotten. A memory in the sand.


	14. Chapter 14

14

i. Revna.

They had returned to Abah’s Landing under the cloak of darkness, the moons of Nirn, Masser and Secunda, Jone and Jode, hidden by clouds that were rarely seen in the peninsula of Hew’s Bane. Revna had hoped that this would stave off the possibility of crowds gathering, but some had still managed to see them.

She had bowed her head and forged on to Finds-Things-Not-Lost’s compound and breathed a sigh of relief when the gates had closed behind them, tight and secure.

They had slept and then spent the day after preparing for the next part of their journey, filling their packs with food and water. Brushing and feeding their horses, cleaning the tack. They had eaten, themselves, and talked little. Each reviewing the events of the day before, or reading, or whittling wood and reeds.

Evening came far too slow, for Revna. She wanted done with Hew’s Bane and its heat and the undeserved admiration of the crowds. Even now, the Argonian merchant was outside her gates, showing off the head of the troll and telling an ever expanding tale of the events in the mountains, while making it quite clear that she was a merchant with the very best prices, not only an ally of ‘Scorpion Black reborn’.

The final meal before setting off to use the wayshrine once more was a quiet one. Food picked at and pushed around plates. The only conversation was about what they were to expect in the swamps of Black Marsh, an area known as the Blackwood Borderlands that few knew anything about.

“Are you saying that there’s no wayshrine near the next tomb?” Tilly pushed her plate away and stared at Öenthir. “You said there were hundreds all over the place.”

“I said there isn’t one that we know of.” Öenthir began to reach into her satchel, for a map or a book, Revna didn’t know, but she stopped the elf with a hand on her arm and a shake of the head. Seeing it wouldn’t matter to Tilly. “The closest one is just over the border from Murkmire.”

“And how far from the wayshrine is the tomb?” Itagaki was sat far from Tilly. It was clear the dark elf had not yet taken Revna’s advice.

“Anywhere else, it would be a week’s ride.” Öenthir seemed apologetic for something that was beyond her control. “But in Black Marsh, with all the swamps and who know’s what else, I couldn’t even begin to guess.”

“A week? In a swamp!” Tilly threw her hands up in exasperation. “And there’s no other way to get there?”

“Not unless we weren’t on a time limit.” The Bosmer’s hand fell to her satchel and patted it, without thinking. “Give me a year and I might be able to conjure a portal. Might! Thanks to one of those spellbooks you found.”

“But we don’t have a year.” Revna was the only one eating. She had found that she actually liked some of the strange Hammerfell food. Not all of it. She would never get used to those sugared worms, whatever Finds-Things called them. “So, it’s the wayshrine and a long ride. We do it this way, because we must.”

Itagaki nodded her assent. Tilly grumbled for a while and left the table, a sideways glance at Itagaki missed by everyone but Revna. Öenthir continued to play with the food on her plate, her mind now on something else, drawing, on occasion, something in the air with her knife and then ‘rubbing away’ what she had ‘drawn’.

Night had drawn around again when they all gathered in the courtyard. Revna had swapped the brilliant white cloak for a thicker, black one, believing that the white one only made her more noticeable by the crowds. The Argonian merchant soon joined them.

“It would probably be for the best if my lazy servants take your horses to the Shrine of Doors.” She saw the questioning looks. “Your ‘wayshrine’. I will lead you through the back way to avoid the peasants.”

“‘Back way’?” Revna found herself annoyed. “You mean we could have avoided the crowds all along?”

“Well, you know, yes. But, ‘advertising’!” She made a dramatic flourish with her hands. “It’s better now, for me, if they think that the great Scorpion Black is still a guest of this most humble and agreeable merchant who just happens to have new, expensive stock.”

“You are unbelievable.” Revna gave the reins of her horse to the bowing and scraping servant that had appeared.

Finds-Things was true to her word. The back way led to a thin passage, hidden between two tall buildings, that twisted and turned for some distance before reaching a grating of some kind. It looked like the entrance to a sewer, or to a flood tunnel, but the tunnel inside was, to their surprise, quite dry.

The tunnel was unlit, but Öenthir’s Mage Light was useful once again, leading the way until another grating came in to sight. This grating led outside the city walls and Revna took a second to marvel at the sheer height of them once again. Some things she would miss about Abah’s Landing.

As promised, their horses were, indeed, at the wayshrine waiting for them. At this time of night, not even goats were around. The city, that never seemed to fail to have large, thronging crowds, was for once quiet. At least from the wayshrine.

“And now we must make our farewells.” Finds-Things took Öenthir’s hand. “May all your spells be powerful ones, little one.”

“Good bye, Finds.” Öenthir gave the Argonian a hug that Finds-Things did not expect.

“May all your enemies fall before your blades.” Finds-Things bowed to Itagaki and the Redguard, silent, returned the gesture. “And you, my sweet Dunmer princess!”

“Keep your hands to yourself, you thieving bugger.” Tilly stepped back with a scowl and then, after a second, both she and Finds-Things erupted into huge grins and gave each other powerful hugs.

“And my beautiful Scorpion Black.” Finds-Things took Revna’s hand and kissed it, her eyes never leaving Revna’s. “If only I had been a tall, blonde Nord. And male, I suppose. What beautiful lovemaking we would have made. Forgive me? For my greed?”

“Never.” Revna didn’t pull her hand away, but gave a small smile to the Argonian. “But I won’t kill you for it. This time.”

Finds-Things laughed and patted Revna’s hand before kissing it once again and then letting go with great reluctance.

Öenthir had already started the process of working her magicks, using one of her remaining soul gems. The slight blue flame in the brazier-like bowl had begun to flare, to grow and brighten, even before she added the soul gem. Then the glow expanded, widening and brightening, until the entire wayshrine became bathed in the warm blue light.

Tilly jumped through first, after patting Finds-Things on the shoulder, tugging her horse along by the reins. Öenthir followed, leading her horse into the wayshrine’s glow and then Itagaki strode forward, her grip tight upon the reins.

Finally, it was time for Revna. She looked at the wayshrine and its blue glow and then glanced at Finds-Things. She raised her hand and cupped the Argonians face, smiling as Finds-Things curled her head into the palm. How could one not forgive someone with such a cheeky face?

Straightening her back, she pulled on her horses reins and stepped forward into the glow of the wayshrine. She didn’t see the happy tear that Finds-Things-Not-Lost wiped away.

ii. Tilly.

It was a swamp.

She knew it was going to be a swamp. She’d heard several times that it was going to be a swamp. It was only now, when she looked out across the landscape, with what seemed like millions of insects chirruping and buzzing and flitting about, and her boots were ankle deep in murky, stagnant water that it actually became a reality.

It was a swamp.

Her long noble’s coat was only hanging above the water by the barest amount. The insects, after only a very short time, had become ceaseless and annoying. There was an ever present smell of rot assailing her nostrils. In the distance she heard the roar of some unknown creature, which was probably ghastly, angry and as smelly as everything else. She hated it.

“We should probably get some rest here until the morning.” Itagaki had made a quick reconnaissance of the area. “There’s nowhere above water anywhere near, that I can see. The wayshrine platform is the only thing close to being dry.”

“Aye. But there’ll be no space for the horses.” Revna checked the fetlocks and hooves of her horse. “This water won’t do their hooves any good.”

“Bugger the horses.” Tilly wrinkled her nose yet again as another whiff of rot passed by. “How are we going to make a fire? There’s nothing dry anywhere.”

“I can use my flame spell, but it won’t last.” Öenthir had not set a foot past the edge of the wayshrine, clutching her satchel and looking into the dank water with a mournful expression. “I’d have to keep recasting it.”

“Just cast it long enough for our feet to dry.” Revna stepped up onto the platform and settled down to sit against one of the uprights. “Dawn shouldn’t be too far away. We’ll set off as soon as we get our bearings, eh.”

They all followed suit. Taking a position each against one of the damp uprights. Tilly couldn’t settle. The floor of the wayshrine, covered in vines, tubers and creepers, criss-crossing, mingling and mixing, made a rough, uncomfortable carpet. And those damned insects seemed like they wanted to eat her alive! She’d lost count of the number that she had crushed against her skin with the slap of a hand.

“I’ll take first watch.” The others looked at her with shocked faces. She hadn’t volunteered for almost anything, up to now, but she doubted she was going to sleep much, anyway. “I’ll wake you up when your spell runs out, Wen.”

She watched as the wood elf cast the spell near the feet of Tilly and the other two. She didn’t need the heat as much because she hadn’t got her feet wet. Tilly wouldn’t have thought of that. She’d have cast it near her own feet, near to Itagaki’s too, at a push, but that wasn’t something she would immediately consider.

She found it infuriating that Öenthir fell asleep almost immediately after casting the spell. This pampered, aloof Bosmer who had turned her nose up at everything that wasn’t silk and eiderdown, now found sleeping on the floor of a wayshrine, in the middle of a filthy swamp, was easy. And Tilly, who had spent most of her life living on the streets, thought she wouldn’t be able to sleep if the mage had managed to conjure up the bed of a king! Maddening!

Soon, everybody was asleep and Tilly was alone with the constant night sounds of the swamp.

Itagaki slept with her swords clasped to her armoured chest. She looked so beautiful, even in the darkness. The flickering of the mage’s flame spell made shadows dance upon the Redguard’s features and each flicker, each new shadow, brought another part of Itagaki’s beautiful face into focus. She was mesmerising, to Tilly.

There had only been one other person that had made Tilly’s heart sing in this way, but that was a long, long time ago, now. A different life. Now, the streets of Morrowind, of Mournhold’s back alleys, of the things she had done, had had to do, were all gone. She had carved a better life for herself, even leaving the life of a thief behind for a greater calling.

But, Itagaki! She made Tilly feel like even that greater calling was a poor imitation of what her life could be. Itagaki made Tilly want to be better. To do better. The steadfast, honest straight-forward Redguard had a way about her that made Tilly want to be ... good. To think beyond her own needs and wants. To, and Tilly found this difficult to believe, think and care about others!

She considered what the big oaf had told her the day before. It was possible she was right (and admitting that to herself almost made her retch). It was also possible she did need to show Itagaki what she was feeling, what she was thinking. Showing feelings, growing up, had usually got her hurt. Others had died through feeling too much. But, now, after all this time, it wouldn’t hurt to show some feelings, could it? For certain people, at least.

She continued running the same thoughts through her head until the mage’s flame spell began to dim and sputter out.

“Wen!” The mage stirred as Tilly kicked her booted foot. “The spell’s run out. Your watch.”

“I’m awake.” The mage still wasn’t used to the odd hours of sleeping outdoors and keeping a watch. She struggled and fought to wake herself up, stretching and yawning. “Is everything alright? Nothing to worry about?”

“Yeah.” Tilly looked once again towards Itagaki before settling herself down. “Everything’s fine. Everything’s good.”

She slept then, somehow, as if all the sounds, smells and creatures didn’t exist anymore. Like everything was going to be good for once in her life.

iii. Öenthir.

How she had slept so well, under the circumstances, eluded her. She had performed her watch until her flame spell died out again, woken up to reignite it again when the watch changed once more and had slept like a baby in between.

Now, as dawn broke through the gnarled, knotted and twisting vegetation around the wayshrine, she felt almost refreshed. Revna, during her watch, had gathered up wood nearby that wasn’t as wet as the rest and left it to dry beside the flame spell and now there was a small, but warming fire on the platform.

She had awoken to the smell of bacon and sausages, that they had brought from Abah’s Landing, frying and it smelled wonderful and mouthwatering. Nibbling at a well fried rasher of bacon, she consulted her maps.

The ones that covered the Blackwood Borderlands were sparse and showed little detail, yet she could make a good guess that the next tomb, the tomb of Onzngknd, was to the north-west of this wayshrine. If the maps were anything to go by, the swamp should give way to flat land after half a day’s journey. Land that was not as damp, she hoped.

“We should set off as soon as we have finished eating.” Itagaki looked over Öenthir’s shoulder at the map, looked at the position of the sun and then back at the map. She pointed in a direction. “That way, according to the map.”

“We should lead the horses until we reach higher ground.” Revna, wolfing at two cuts of bread with three sausages stuffed between them, had checked the horses once again. Their well-being seemed more important to her than to any of the others. “The footing in these swamps could be treacherous for them with us on their backs.”

“Great. This place is that bad, I almost miss Skyrim.” Tilly looked at the swamp water from the wayshrine platform, in disgust. “I’m going to need new boots after this.”

They were soon on the way, tugging their horses along, slogging through the slimy stagnant waters, almost having to fight to lift their legs from the mire. They had to alter course several times due to deeper waters, areas with crocodiles, Kotu Gava and even a huge, bone armoured Haj Mota. Revna had taken one look at the Haj Mota and stated that, one day, she would fight one of those beasts, for the fun of it.

They reached higher ground sooner than they had expected and Öenthir made a mental note to amend the maps when they stopped to rest, according to her new observations. Now that they were on out of the worst of the swamp and they could see the ground the horses would be travelling on, they mounted and Itagaki pushed them to make up time before resting at mid-day.

It was, Öenthir surmised, now almost into the second week since the cursed voices had started in the Jarl’s mind, there was still another week, at least, before they reached Onzngknd‘s tomb and then a similar amount of time to come back and reach a wayshrine in Murkmire that they could use to transport to Skyrim for the final tomb of Æfiror. That gave plenty of time, but that was also if everything went according to plan, which rarely happened.

There had been little talk between the party through the morning. The cloying, dense and claustrophobic land of Black Marsh and, in particular, here in the Blackwood Borderlands it all felt like a heavy blanket weighing down upon them all.

Tilly had tried to lighten the mood by telling a tale of the time she found herself caught in the bedchambers of a noble’s wife. She had bedded the wife, put the noble to sleep with a small cut from ‘Bedtime Story’, stolen the family jewellery and made off with the chambermaid and the noblewoman still proclaimed her love for Tilly through the window as Tilly and the chambermaid ran through the streets.

Both Öenthir and Revna chuckled at the story, but Itagaki sat stony faced upon her horse and her quiet fury, felt through the binding, caused the amusement to die an abrupt death. Öenthir saw a wordless exchange between Revna and the dark elf that seemed to amount to Revna urging Tilly to do something and Tilly shrugging her shoulders a lot.

By mid-day they were all past ready to rest for a short while. They each checked their horses, drying the hooves with a cloth Revna had picked up from Finds-Things-Not-Lost’s copious stores. Then Revna joined Itagaki staring out through the strange shaped trees, climbing vines and squat, fat stemmed bushes.

“What is it?” Öenthir joined them, but could see nothing.

“I don’t know.” Revna scowled and looked to see if Itagaki was thinking the same thing. “It’s just a feeling. Like ...”

“We are being watched.” Itagaki finished the sentence and Revna nodded agreement.

Öenthir gave one more look to their surroundings, but the trees gave nothing away of what might be hiding within them. She made an involuntary shiver and returned to her horse. She had been about to take out her books and maps, for a short while, to make notes and changes according to what they had seen, but she left them all in her satchel.

She wanted to be able to move immediately if she needed to.

iv. Itagaki.

There was nothing there. Nothing that she could see, but she could sense it. Eyes watching from the trees. She knew Revna could feel it too, having taken one of her great swords from her weapons roll and resting it on her lap as she rode.

The Khajiit still seemed to be reluctant to use the sword on her back. She tended to it, every night, tied it to her back, with reverence, every morning and yet never took it off for a fight. Itagaki still found it strange. It was, by far, the best weapon Revna had and it should see use.

For her part, Itagaki eased her swords in their scabbards at regular intervals as they travelled, her eyes made surreptitious checks of every tree, every dip in the landscape, every rock and bush. She knew something, or someone was there but, try as she might, she could not see it, or them. They were good, whoever they were.

Tilly had trotted up, twice now, to start a conversation but, even if she wasn’t concerned by whoever was watching them, she didn’t want to talk to the dark elf. That night, in Abah’s Landing, had been a mistake. A momentary lapse that she would not be fool enough to repeat. The Dunmer could find another notch for her bed post.

It wan’t that she wasn’t attracted to the dark elf. She was. But that flawless dark blue/grey skin, the perfect cheekbones, the cheeky, black eyes, the silky, white hair that fell about her shoulders and the lithe body without an ounce of fat upon it were only a shell. A picture without a canvas. Tilly could no more love someone than a horse could breathe underwater. That was a gift of the binding. When you could feel the emotions of three other people, but not those of your lover, there was nothing there to love.

And Itagaki needed love, not lust.

“It’ll be dark soon.” Revna’s eyes never left the surroundings, calling over her shoulder to Itagaki and the others. “We should find somewhere to camp.”

It took a little while longer, but they managed to find an area that seemed dry and flat, with trees and bushes surrounding it, giving cover but enough distance to be able to meet any attack if it came.

“I’ll try to find some dry wood.” Öenthir offered as she began to circle the clearing.

“We need to talk.” Tilly caught Itagaki unawares, the Redguard’s attention being on their surroundings. “There’s some things we need to say.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” Itagaki continued to clear away debris from the area, still watching the trees. “You had your fun. You fought past my barriers and we slept together. Now you have your big story to tell your thief friends.”

“It’s not like that!” Tilly grabbed Itagaki’s arm and turned her to face each other. “I just want you to know that ... that ...”

There was a scream. Itagaki unsheathed both her swords, pulling her arm away from Tilly, and turned in the direction of the scream. Revna had also turned, the great sword held in a one-handed grip that few could manage with such ease. Then Öenthir ran from the trees, her satchel flapping against her side, panic in her eyes.

“Bugs!” She ran like the hordes of Oblivion were on her tail. “I disturbed some big bugs!”

“Bugs? You scream for bugs?” Revna relaxed, dropping the sword to her side and laughed at the Bosmer. “Then you’ll be screaming a lot here, mage.”

“No, no, no! Big bugs! Really, really big bugs!” Öenthir pointed back the way she came and now they all could hear the furious buzzing of flapping wings and they saw them. Some the size of big house cats, others even dog size. Kotu Gava. “That big!”

The Kotu Gava made strange creaking, croaking sounds as they flew from the trees, straight towards the group. There were so many of them that Itagaki couldn’t count, swarming towards them, around them, above them.

Immediately, she swept her sword outwards in a wide arc, slicing one of the bugs clean in two and taking one of the wings from another, sending it spiralling to the ground. Revna moved away from the group in order to use her great sword like a windmill, spinning it around and around with ease, hitting some of the Kotu Gava, but not enough. There were still so many.

Tilly had drawn both her daggers, ‘The Sisters’, and had begun wild slashing at anything that came near her. The buzzing was so loud, it made thinking difficult for them all. Itagaki saw Öenthir trying to get space for herself so that she could cast a spell, but the Kotu Gava followed too fast.

They started making headway, though. A pile of Kotu Gava had begun to form around Revna as she continued windmilling her sword with such ferocity and speed that even the manoeuvrable insects were being caught, even by glancing blows. Itagaki, herself, had flitted and danced avoiding the sharp needle point proboscis’ of the insects and slicing and dicing her way through the cloud.

Soon, their efforts began to tell. The insects were almost all dead or retreating. Itagaki made her way to Öenthir, who was still stalked by some of the Kotu Gava but, as she carved them apart, the mages eyes widened at something behind Itagaki.

She turned and there, much larger than any of the others, its abdomen huge and bloated, was the brood mother. Before Itagaki could react, the abdomen exploded sending hundreds or larval Kotu Gava flying towards her.

Only she found herself knocked out of the way, tumbling sideways until she could regain her feet but, by the time she had, the swarm of larval Kotu Gava had hit. Tilly. The dark elf was the centre of a cloud of larval Kotu Gava, screaming in pain. ‘The Sisters’ fell from her hands and the Dunmer soon followed them to the floor, curling up into a screaming fetal ball.

“No!” It was Öenthir that yelled, her face turning from panic to a pure rage that Itagaki had never seen in the Bosmer.

And then Öenthir raised both her hands, held like claws pointing at the swarm of Kotu Gava around Tilly, and the brood mother, and flame appeared. Not the small flickering flame that the mage had used the night before to keep them warm, but a great ball of red hot, furious fire, writhing and twisting in the air. It encompassed the cloud around Tilly, burning them, incinerating them, exploding them.

Öenthir turned her attention, then, to the brood mother. Encircling it with the fire, leaving it space within the globe of flame. Then, almost with cruelty, closing her clawed fingers into fists, the globe of fire following suit, growing tighter and tighter around the brood mother burning it from the edges right to its body, until it fell from the air, nothing more than a twisted, torched corpse.

Itagaki had watched this all in a state of shock and was slow to move, even as Öenthir’s eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she collapsed in a heap next to the whimpering form of Tilly. By the time Itagaki could move, Revna had joined her to fall to their knees beside their friends, both now deathly silent.

It was no wonder, then, that neither of the warriors noticed, until far too late, the spears that were being pointed at them.


	15. Chapter 15

15

i. Tilly’s dream.

She remembered this. The eclectic mix of ‘furniture’ that they had found, and stolen, seeming dropped where they could find space. The bed raised higher at one corner because it didn’t quite fit anywhere else. The three different styles of chair that they rarely ever sat upon, but they had got because ‘every home needs chairs’. The board of wood with the name of their home, “High-Haven”, carved by crude hands, upon its surface.

There was something different, too. Something that she couldn’t put her finger on. A feeling. No, a presence that was not part of this memory. Something ‘other’.

She remembered the day, though. The clamour from below as the city guards ran around trying to find the culprit, or culprits, that had stolen the House Hlaalu treasures and murdered the young, destined-for-great-things, Gavun, the third and most loved of the Hlaalu sons.

Any second now, she would clamber through the secret entrance at the back of the room at the top of the tower. Breathless, ecstatic at their audacious plan almost going ahead without a hitch. Her hair would seem distressed after being almost caught, a great chunk pulled out of it, but that would do little to spoil her discreet beauty.

Here she was. That smile brightening the room.

“You made it!” She scrambled from the tight entrance to the secret route out of the room and launched herself into the dark elf’s arms, kissing her with passion. “I thought they had surely caught you and I was just about ready to tear the cells apart to rescue you.”

“I found a way out.” She found herself locked within this memory, repeating the words that had echoed in her mind for so many years. “I’ve been waiting for you. Do you still have it?”

The Breton girl with the wondrous curly brown hair smiled and dipped her hand back into the secret route entrance, pulling out a heavy bag that rattled and tinkled as it moved.

No! Thought the Dunmer. Run! Get away! It’s not safe here! I’m not safe!

But no words came. The story continued to play out exactly as it had before. Like an avalanche of memories that would carry her along in its destruction. And still, in the back of her mind, the feeling persisted, the presence remained, observing in silence.

“Right here!” The Breton opened the bag to show the dark elf the contents and looked up, as if for approval. “Shame about the Hlaalu boy, but what could you do?”

“Is that enough?” The dark elf shouted over her shoulder towards the main door of the room.

The replay began to slow, then, to falter, as if the memory was fighting to have the scene play out as it should. Two strapping Dunmer city guards forcing their way through the door way, pushing her out of the way and grabbing the Breton. The girl’s eyes showing incomprehension, not knowing how or why this was happening. The guard captain entering and dropping the bag of gold into her hand.

“Tilly of Daggerfall, we are arresting you for the murder of Gavun, of House Hlaalu, and for the theft of House Hlaalu belongings.” The guard captain smashed the back of his hand into the Breton girl’s face. “And that’s the least of what you’ll get, murderer.”

“I didn’t do it! I just stole the things!” The Breton, Tilly, the real Tilly, flashed her tear filled eyes towards the dark elf, her nose broken and bleeding. “Tell them, Hlaina, please! I didn’t kill him!”

As before, the dark elf, Hlaina who would later call herself Tilly High-Haven, did nothing. Said nothing. She wanted to, now. Now, she wanted to cut the throats of the guards. To shove the bag of gold down the throat of the guard captain until he choked, but she couldn’t. The memory replayed as it had always done.

Except.

The guards stopped dragging the Breton Tilly through the door, released her arms, and she stood up straight, staring at ‘Hlaina’, cocking her head to one side and smiling a crooked, evil smile that was so out of place on that face.

“You betray, ‘Tilly’. That’s what you do.” The Breton stepped closer. “Think of yourself. Help yourself. There’s no room to care about anyone else. You will always betray those around you, just as you will betray those you are bound to.”

‘Hlaina’ couldn’t say anything, words failing to even begin to emerge from her mouth. The Breton Tilly circled around her, trailing her hand up Hlaina’s arm, across her shoulder, until she was stood behind the dark elf, whispering in her ear.

There, in the corner of her eye, indistinct, blurred. The ‘presence’. Watching as she struggled, locked in a memory that was no longer her memory. She felt like it was making observations, testing, making notes. What was it? Why could she not see it?

“You will always be alone.” A sharp pain struck Hlaina as a knife was thrust into her back, forced upwards. It was a killing stroke. One that would kill in a slow and painful way. One that she would learn later in her new life. One that she would have taught to her and would use time and time again.

ii. Tilly.

Her eyes opened, with much difficulty, flickering and blinking, the warm light almost painful. It took a while, but, soon, she managed to open them in full. Her eyes opening accompanied by pain all over her body and a need to retch. She immediately leaned over the side of the bed that she was on and tried to be sick, but nothing came.

Her eyes were still blurry, but she managed to catch sight of the big oaf Khajiit slumped in a chair beside the bed, a whittling knife and a piece of wood in her hands. She was fast asleep, snoring to herself.

“She’s hardly left your side. Her or Itagaki, often both at the same time.” That was the mage, Öenthir’s voice from her other side. Tilly flopped back on to the bed, exhausted from that tiny movement. “She just sat there, carving things and Itagaki ... well, she hasn’t spoken much.”

Tilly tried to speak, but her throat was so dry that all that emerged was a weak croak that barely even managed to crawl from between her lips. Öenthir put down a book she was reading and picked up a plain mug, lifting Tilly’s head and holding it to her lips.

How could water be painful to drink? It felt like little blades coursing down her throat, but it also felt like the tastiest water she’d ever drank. The mage didn’t let her drink too much, only a little sip and then a little more, before putting the mug back on the table beside the bed.

“H ... how long?” Tilly managed to let out only the two words and that felt like an achievement.

“You were very ill. We thought we’d lost you.” The mage didn’t look at Tilly, trying to avoid her questioning gaze. “If the Saxhleel hadn’t found us ... well, they did, so no point worrying.”

“How long?” Her muscles felt like they were on fire. Pins and needles causing her great discomfort, but she managed to sit herself up.

“Two weeks.” Öenthir brushed the front of her dress and then, finally looked at Tilly. “You were cut to ribbons. I managed to staunch the blood, but you caught some kind of infection. It was the Saxhleel who really saved your life.”

“Two weeks.” She stared around the room she was in, mumbling the words. It was a simple mud hut, that she could see. Bare walls and floor. Few furnishings, save for the bed, table, the two chairs and a closed chest at the foot of the bed. A doorway with only a reed curtain covering it, allowing sunlight to filter through causing slats of light to flicker on the walls. “Why didn’t you just leave me? Go on to the tomb?”

“Why would we do that?” The mage seemed confused by the thought. Genuine confusion. “You’re our friend.”

Tilly didn’t know how to respond to that. She looked over at Revna, still wearing that ridiculous ‘Scorpion Black’ armour, snoring away in the chair. She thought, for a second and then, seeing the mage’s book on the table, picked it up and tossed it at the walking carpet’s head.

Revna jumped, dropping the whittling knife and the piece of wood that had been in her hands. She looked around in confusion and then saw Tilly sat up in the bed. Tilly had never seen someone show such delight at seeing her.

“Little elf!” The Khajiit launched herself from the chair, wrapping her big arms around Tilly, almost crushing her half to death.

“I’m not little, you dumb cat!” But her words didn’t hold any spite and she surprised herself by relishing the show of emotion.

The reed curtain covering the door, pushed aside, let more of the warm daylight into the room. A tall, lithe, elderly Argonian entered, carrying a thin staff that ended in a circle at the top and with feathers attached to it. The Argonian said nothing, but looked at Öenthir and nodded once before leaving again.

“It’s time for my lessons.” The mage almost skipped like a giddy child around the bed and picked up her book from the floor where it had landed. “I expect you two will have things to talk about.”

“Lessons?” Tilly asked Revna who was still knelt beside the bed, both hands still gripping her and with that strange happy face that Tilly didn’t dislike as much as she thought she would in normal circumstances.

“The speaker has taken it upon himself to teach our Wen how to control her spells better.” Revna stood up and moved around to the other side of the bed, picked up the mug of water and held it for Tilly to drink. “But you! You’re awake. Finally. I thought you were going to laze around in that bed forever.”

The cat was making a joke but, underneath, Tilly could sense the concern in Revna’s voice. That, she had learned, was the Khajiit all over. She cared a lot but that wasn’t the done thing for Nords. They tended to hide their concerns and worries by joking, fighting and drinking. If they couldn’t fight with you because they care and they couldn’t drink you under the table to show they cared, that only left the jokes. And Revna wasn’t the best at joking.

“Shut up, you big fur ball.” It was only now, as her senses were returning to her that she noticed her body, covered with hundreds of tiny marks and that there should have been more scarring. She noticed that and that she wasn’t wearing anything. “And why am I naked?”

iii. Revna.

She couldn’t begin to say how happy she was to see her friend awake and seeming to be feeling much better. Of course, Tilly, most like, didn’t consider Revna a friend but, for Revna, that didn’t matter. She was happy for it to be a one-sided friendship. Some people needed friends even if they didn’t know that they did. Tilly was one of those people.

Opening the chest at the bottom of the bed, she pulled out Tilly’s clothes. Freshly laundered and well repaired by the Argonians of the tribe, you could almost not even notice the hundreds of cuts that corresponded with the hundreds of marks on Tilly’s body.

The Argonians had told them that, given time, even those marks on Tilly’s body would fade and no-one would ever be the wiser at what she had suffered. And she had suffered. The cuts had been small but deep. The dark elf had lost so much blood, her noble’s coat had turned a dark red with it. Öenthir had stopped the bleeding and most like saved the Dunmer’s life right there, but not before the wounds had become infected.

Watching Tilly suffer the fever that followed was among the worst times in her life. She had almost died, several times, but the Argonian healers knew their profession well, bringing the dark elf back from the brink every time, coating her wounds with some kind of paste every day to bring down her fever and to help the wounds to heal. It was almost miraculous.

“I have something for you, by the way.” She helped Tilly into her clothes and it was still a struggle. The dark elf’s arms and legs still trying to work as normal after spending so much time laid down for two weeks. “I mean, you’ll probably hate it and it’s not much, but we missed the New Life Festival and I thought ...”

“Stop fussing and spit it out, cat!” That was more like the Tilly she knew! Fiery and abrupt. The way Revna liked her. “Or am I going to have to be ill another two weeks before you can say it?”

Revna reached into the inside of her chest armour and pulled out a necklace. Tied with a thin string of leather, the token, or charm, attached to it was an intricate and incredible carved piece. Made from some strange kind of wood that looked at once green, then a bright golden yellow and then a deep blue, depending on how the light hit it, much like the scales on some Argonians. The token comprised of two hearts intertwined with each other.

“It’s a love charm. The people of the Reach give half to the person they love.” Revna traced a finger over a deeper line that curved from one edge to the other. “It breaks there and there are two holes so each side can be worn by each lover. I made it from a piece of the Hist tree that had fallen off.”

Revna couldn’t tell what the dark elf thought of the gift. She held it up by the string and watched it twist and turn in the light flickering through the reed curtain. She had a strange far away look in her eye and didn’t say anything for the longest time.

“I’m not giving you half.” The dark elf jerked her hand causing the charm to jump upwards, catching it in a clenched fist. “I don’t love you, Revna, and I never will. It’s the fur, you see. It’s itchy.”

Revna laughed aloud, slapped her knees and then gave Tilly a friendly punch on the arm. She regretted that, though, as Tilly reeled away in pain, still sore after her illness. Then Revna remembered something.

“Oh, yes! I have something else for you, but it’s not a gift, it’s what you’re going to need for a while.” She reached the doorway in two long steps, leaning out, under the reed curtain, and came back holding a walking stick. “Knowing you, you won’t want to stay cooped up in here.”

“A walking stick?” Tilly grimaced as Revna handed it to her. “What am I? An old hag?”

But she used it and leant upon Revna too, for a while, as they pushed aside the reed curtain and stepped out into the daylight beyond the mud hut.

Tilly was, it seemed clear, not at all impressed. The village seemed made up of various sized mud huts shaped like gourds, bulbous at the bottom. Surrounding the village was a wall, or a fence, it was difficult to tell exactly what she could describe it as. Part wood, part mud and part leather made from the skin of some huge creature.

Little Argonian children ran around chasing each other with toy spears, hissing and clicking to each other in mock battles. The adult Argonians, almost every one, carried spears and had strange swords at their sides made from various bones.

And, in the centre of the village, stood the great Hist tree. A huge, bloated tree that dominated the entire village, its boughs seeming to cover the village like protective arms gathering children to the safety of its trunk.

As they walked through the village, the dark elf managed to start walking without holding on to Revna so much, even though the Khajiit’s hands continued to itch to give her friend aid. They passed several Argonians and Revna greeted them with nods even as they greeted her with “Beeko”, “Beeko-Revna”, “Beeko-Khajiit”, or even “Ojel” from the more fierce of the villagers.

“What’s all this ‘Beeko’ nonsense?” The dark elf, as always, didn’t care about offending anyone.

“‘Beeko’ means ‘friend’, ‘Ojel’ means ‘outsider’ and, depending on hisses and clicks, can be either friendly or not.” Revna saw that Tilly found this ridiculous, the dark elf’s face screwing up in that way she did before saying something offensive. “A word of warning, though, these Argonians are nothing like Finds-Things. Nothing like her! They will take offence at the drop of a hat and challenge you, whether you’re ill or not. Watch what you say.”

The first few days had been difficult for Revna, with her Nord mannerisms and a Nord’s forthright way of speaking. She had faced many challenges, none to the death, she was thankful, and had come out the other side, undefeated and admired by the tribe for her fighting prowess. There were some that had not taken defeat well, though, and they let it known at every opportunity. In secret, Revna had enjoyed the challenges and missed them as they petered out and the tribe came to know her.

Tilly was going to have a difficult time, if she wasn’t careful.

iv. Öenthir.

The Sap-Speaker remained silent, as he often did, for a long time after Öenthir had joined him at the base of the Hist tree. He didn’t even look at her for quite a while, sipping from a bowl that he held in both hands.

Öenthir spread her skirts and knelt across from him, dropping her hands into her lap to wait, impatient for him to speak. Several times over the first few days of the training, he had dismissed her without saying a single word for the entire time that she had been with him.

She had no idea how that was training her, but she did as expected, as she had always done in the Mages Guild. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the Speaker had seemed disappointed in her on those days when he had said nothing. The subtle click in the back of his throat as he dismissed her could mean any number of things, but ‘disappointment’ was the thought that kept returning to her.

From the corner of her eye she caught sight of Revna leading Tilly around the village, the dark elf leaning upon the walking stick that the Khajiit had taken great care to carve for her. She was so happy that Tilly was finally awake, but she tried very hard to hide it in front of the Speaker.

“The Hist speaks and I hear. You are glad you’re friend has awoken, Beeko.” The Sap-Speaker took another sip from his bowl. “But you are here instead of there, you think? When, in reality, you are there but not here.”

“I’m sorry, Speaker. I don’t mean to seem distracted.” Öenthir felt her cheeks burn and she dipped her eyes. “I’ll focus more on your lessons, I promise.”

“Do not promise.” There! That was definitely a click of disappointment. “You are bound to your friends as the Red-Spine tribe is bound to our Hist and each other. That is our strength and our weakness. What is your strength and your weakness?”

Öenthir struggled to think about that question. There was nothing about her that she could consider a strength, but there were several thousand million things she could point to as her weaknesses, but she had got to know the Sap-Speaker well by now, there was one weakness that he was eluding to. She couldn’t sort through all of them quick enough to find the one he meant. She could sense the irritation exuding from every look, every tiny movement of the elderly Argonian. He didn’t wait any longer for her to answer.

“They are your friends. You are bound to them.” The Sap-Speaker’s eyes felt like needles digging into her brain, finding all her flaws and exposing them. “But they are also not your friends. Why is this?”

“When we first met, I ...”

“No.” He didn’t snap, or raise his voice, but the Sap-Speaker stopped her dead in her tracks. He continued to stare at her.

“We are all such diff ...”

“No.” The word spoken in exactly the same way. No variation, no change in intonation to make a point. The exact same way.

“We’ve only known each ...”

“No.” This time the tone did change. It was difficult, with Argonians, to judge what they meant when they spoke. The strange monotone nature of their voices made it difficult to understand the nuances of what was being said. This time it was clear that the Sap-Speaker seemed saddened by her answers. “How can you ever hope to control your magick, when you cannot control the lies you speak to yourself? Go now. The lesson is over for today. Perhaps tomorrow you will speak the truth, Ojel.”

That struck like a knife to her heart. The Sap-Speaker hadn’t called her ‘Ojel’ since shortly after they had arrived. Calling her it now was a clear sign that she had angered him in some way and it angered her that she couldn’t make herself understand why. She wasn’t angry at the Speaker, she was angry with herself.

She tried to stand with as much dignity as she could muster, avoiding the eyes of the Sap-Speaker who, even now, stared in that odd, unblinking Argonian fashion. She found herself feeling quite embarrassed at failing in front of the venerable and wise Speaker and, as she walked away, she ran through the conversation time and again to see where she went wrong.

“Careful, mage!” Öenthir hadn’t even noticed the big frame of Revna, even as she almost walked through her.

“Sorry, I was distracted from my lesson.” She looked around. “Where’s Tilly?”

“She wanted to sit and rest alone for a while.” Revna pointed over her shoulder. “So I dumped her under a tree for shade and left her to be irritated by the Argonian children who all think she’s fascinating. She hates it, of course.”

“But, she’s alright?” Öenthir looked around Revna to see Tilly shooing the Argonian children away. “I mean, she’s my friend, right? I’m concerned for her, because we’re friends ... We are all friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are!” Revna placed a big hand as comfort on her shoulder and chuckled. “Tilly will never admit it, of course, and Itagaki probably won’t show it, but, absolutely, we are friends. All of us.”

“I mean me. Am I friends with you all?” Her shoulders slumped and she put her hand Revna’s. “I want to be.”

“Oh, Wen” Revna pulled her into her arms and hugged her, warm and comforting. “You are, of course you are. Listen, I have something for you. I wanted to wait for a Tilly to wake up before I gave everyone their New Life festival gifts. She has hers and now it’s time for yours.”

Revna took her hand and squeezed it, leading her away, through the village, to where they had stabled the horses. Öenthir watched as the Khajiit untied her weapons roll and then pulled out the most wonderful carved staff.

It came to an inch or so over her head height, made from wood Revna had found in the Rift. In the centre of the staff’s length a handle carved at the right height for her hand to hold comfortably. A criss-cross pattern that made the staff easy to hold on to. The top of the staff, Revna had carved into five sides and, in those sides she saw five pictures carved; a lightning bolt, a flame, a heart, a wall and a candle.

“It isn’t enchanted, but you can get it enchanted later, I expect. The five sides at the top represent each of your first five spells.” Revna fidgeted, not knowing where to put her hands, worrying if Öenthir liked it. “I just thought that every mage deserves a staff.”

“It’s beautiful.” Öenthir ran her hand over the surface of the staff, touching each tiny detail that Revna had carved into its surface and she felt tears pricking at her eyes. “It’s perfect. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

It was Öenthir’s turn to hug Revna and she squeezed as hard as she could for a long time. She never believed that she’d ever have a friend like Revna, or that she would have friends like Itagaki or Tilly, but she was glad she had them now.

And yet the Sap-Speaker’s questions still turned in her mind. What were her greatest strength and greatest weakness? Why did she consider Revna, Itagaki and Tilly as friends and yet also not? She still didn’t understand. But, for now, she felt she had the best friends anyone could ever hope to have.

v. Itagaki.

Moving through the form wielding hammers, instead of her usual swords, was difficult. The weight was all wrong, the balance too far from her body. She had to compensate and adapt to the strange arc that the hammers required of her body as they moved in sweeping circles.

The principle was the same, but putting it into action took more concentration on her part. She relished it, though. The challenge of it was exciting. The practice, the mistakes, the triumph at success, it diminished nothing of her capabilities but added much to her knowledge and experience.

She had learnt much in her meditations, too, taking the time to sit with the village elders and the Sap-Speaker as they communed with the Hist and also while alone, sat at the edge of the village listening to the sounds of the animals and the wind through strange trees. It was the closest she had felt to achieving CHIM.

The form was reaching its end. The dance of swords, adapted to hammers, was a long and complex set of movements designed to instil perfection in battle. To end the form early, for whatever reason would, her tutor said, cause an imbalance between body and weapon. It was for this reason that, despite noticing Revna at the edge of her periphery, she continued until the form reached its end, finally ending in the position of respect to the imagined opponent.

“Tilly is awake.” The Khajiit had waited, in respect, until the end of the form to speak.

“That is good to hear.” Taking a rough Argonian patterned towel, she rubbed her face dry and then under her shift, drying between her breasts, her armpits and between her legs.

Strictly speaking, she should have practiced wearing her full armour, but the oppressive heat of Black Marsh was different from that found in Hammerfell. It was a damp, cloying heat that promoted sweat more than the dry, burning heat of the desert. She mixed her practice sessions between wearing armour and without it, believing that this would teach her body the benefits from both methods.

“How is she?” She tossed the towel on the ground and began clambering back into her armour, fastening the straps tight, all the while avoiding Revna’s gaze.

“Oh, you know. Grumpy, snarky. The usual.” Revna picked up one of the one-handed hammers of Argonian design, giving it an experimental swing. “The Argonian children are fascinated by the ‘dark ojel’. She, of course, pretends she hates the attention, but I think she’s quite taken with them.”

Itagaki nodded, adjusting the chest piece of her armour until it sat comfortable upon her. Once she felt satisfied, she picked up her swords, sliding them, with the usual ceremony, into the sash at her waist. Revna dropped the hammer, clapped her hands and pointed at Itagaki.

“I have something for you. I’ve given Tilly and Wen their New Life Festival gifts. Now it’s your turn.” The Khajiit reached around behind her back and it returned holding a set of Shepherds Pipes. “You said you wanted to play music, but had to be a warrior. I don’t see why you can’t do both.”

The pipes were well made from good Hammerfell reed that Revna must, it seemed obvious, have collected in Hew’s Bane. The workmanship was exquisite, measured and tied together in a slight bow. Itagaki gave them a testing blow and the pipes gave a deep mournful sound that surprised her. It was a thoughtful gift.

“Thank you, my friend. You are most kind.” She placed the pipes in her sash, across from her swords. “And how goes your training?”

The two warriors fell into step as they turned back towards the centre of the village. The tall Khajiit, measured, sturdy and powerful, and the shorter Redguard, precise, smooth and deadly. They complimented each other even while walking.

“Ha! You know me, Redguard!” Revna placed a hand on Itagaki’s shoulder as they walked and Itagaki didn’t shrug it off as she may once have done. “I swing a big heavy weapon, be it a sword, axe or hammer. I hope it hits and if it doesn’t, I swing it again. There’s no mystery to it.”

“You do yourself a disservice.” She looked up at her Khajiiti friend. “You have skill, great skill, speed and power. You are not the mere brute you say you are, or think you are. I have learnt much from watching you in battle.”

“I wouldn’t know about that.” Revna squirmed beneath the complimentary, but true, words.

“I do not lie, Khajiit. Especially not to my friends.” Still, if Revna had been human or mer, she would have been blushing, her eyes flickering anywhere but at Itagaki. “Modesty does neither you or anyone else any favours.”

It was a shame that Revna didn’t see in herself what she could see. Itagaki found the strength of the woman admirable, not just physical strength, but emotional and moral strength. She was like a rock, immovable in what she thought was the right thing to do. Her nobility in the face of everything she had to deal with growing up in a land that did not want her, that hated her. And her kindness was the true gift that she gave, even in the face of others being unkind to her, still she considered others before herself.

There was much to admire about her, but to say such a thing would make the Khajiit almost run away to curl up into a deep, dark corner. As if the compliments were weapons against her. No doubt Revna’s mothers had done the best they could to give her a good life, but staying in Skyrim had, most like, not been the best thing for their daughter.

Now, having seen so much of what the rest of Tamriel could offer her, Revna seemed to be emerging from her self-made shell. Yet, still she remained modest and unaware of her true capabilities.

One day, though, she would see what she was, in truth. A great warrior, even a good leader, given time and experience. A kind warrior. And loved. And, when the realisation did come to her, she would become quite formidable.


	16. Chapter 16

16

i. Tilly.

She had more than enough of the Argonian children. Anyone would think they’d never seen a Dunmer before. It was possible they hadn’t? But she wasn’t some freak for them to poke with those ridiculous little spears. She had managed to find a quiet spot, away from everyone, under a squat tree with wide overhanging branches that hid her from the rest of the village.

She needed time to think.

Now, leaning back against the tree, she laid the walking stick beside her and closed her eyes, breathing the humid air that smelled only a little bit less like rotting turnips than it had in the more watery region they had arrived in.

She didn’t remember anything from the last two weeks, except for that dream. The last thing she remembered was the Kotu Gava hovering behind Itagaki, its distended body swelling before it launched its larvae at the Redguard. She remembered pushing her one-night lover out of the way and then everything had only been pain. Pain and screams, her own screams, followed by deep blackness. Until the dream.

She reached in to her pocket, pulling out the lovers charm necklace, opening her eyes and dangling it before her. The charm turned this way and that before settling with the side with the two hearts facing her.

She had carved it so well, so beautiful. Revna had talent as a woodworker, that was certain if she ever wanted to stop caving in the heads of trolls with those ridiculous, big weapons of hers. Revna! Ha! She’d even started calling the big oaf by her name now! Still, she did appreciate the gift even if she wasn’t sure what she would do with it.

The dream, however, had disturbed her. Before the Kotu Gava attack, she would have given half of the charm to Itagaki without hesitation. Whether the Redguard would have accepted it or not was beside the point. She was ready to take that chance with her. To take a step she hadn’t even considered with anyone else. Not even ...

She twisted the leather string, making the charm turn once again, watching the colours change as the light hit it different each time it turned. A beautiful gift for a beautiful woman. The charm and Itagaki would compliment each other so well. She could imagine the charm hanging between the sun-kissed breasts of the Redguard. Imagine their real hearts coming together as one.

The dream. It had brought back memories that she had hidden deep inside her mind. Memories that had stopped disturbing her long ago and now were once again running continuous through her mind. Unremitting.

The Breton Tilly had not been the last person she had betrayed, but she had been the closest. The first person she had ever loved, or, at least, thought she had loved. Yet, she had betrayed her Breton lover in a heartbeat to save her own skin and for gold. And the dream of the Breton telling her she would betray those she was now bound to?

Would she? Could she? What made the feelings she had for the Redguard any different from those she had with the Breton?

She gathered the string of the necklace, turning her wrist several times to entwine it around her fingers, and then replaced it into her pocket. She would not give the charm to Itagaki. If she couldn’t stop her baser nature, if she did betray them all as her dream foretold, she would not do it by breaking the heart of the woman she loved. Not again. Better to break a heart for a noble reason than due to betrayal. She’d rather people hated her for doing the right thing than for any other reason.

It was pure coincidence that she now saw Itagaki walking towards her, the sunlight emphasising her staggering beauty. Her silky black hair shining in the light. Her determined, precise strides closing the distance between them like a metronome, timed with perfection.

Tilly pushed herself up from the trunk of the tree, collecting the walking stick as she rose. With increasing steadiness, she limped forward to greet the Redguard.

“You are looking well.” It was the simplest way to begin the conversation.

“The worst is over, I expect.” They looked at each other, both lapsing into an awkward silence. It was clear Itagaki wanted to talk about more than her health. Tilly gave her the time to start that it was clear she needed.

“Before ... before we were attacked. You said we needed to talk.” Itagaki wasn’t one for embarrassment, and this was the closest she would most like ever come to it. “I was not ready to listen to you then, but I am ready now. Say what you wished to say, ask your questions and I will listen.”

Tilly’s hand, without thinking, slipped into her pocket, toying with the charm as she looked upon the most beautiful woman she had ever met. Those big, dark eyes surrounded by flawless white, looked into her own, hoping, urging Tilly to say what Itagaki wanted to hear. Tilly took her hand out of her pocket and it joined her other hand on the walking stick.

“It was nothing. Just some nonsense.” Tilly’s eyes dipped to the ground, avoiding Itagaki’s own. “Pay it no mind.”

She began to walk around Itagaki, the movement awkward due to the walking stick. Itagaki’s eyes moved, never stopping, trying to work out what had happened. She grabbed Tilly’s arm and moved in front of her.

“Pay it no mind?” The Redguard seemed confused. “You chase me, flirt outrageously with me, make love with me and then save my life and I am to ‘pay it no mind’? Is this a game to you? I am not a foolish child. I thought you did not truly care for me until you jumped between me and that creature. I was wrong. I see it now. But now I should ‘pay it no mind’?”

“You were right. I’m just playing games.” Tilly avoided Itagaki’s searching eyes, pulling her arm from the Redguard’s hand. “You know. You know from the binding. I don’t have feelings. I don’t care for you. I don’t love you and this game has become boring now.”

She began walking away. It took every ounce of her reserve to stop herself from falling at Itagaki’s feet, begging forgiveness and professing exactly how much she did, in truth, love her. That she had never wanted to love anyone but now she could not imagine not loving her. To tell the Redguard about her dream and everything about her. Her past, her betrayals, her indiscretions, her calling. Everything.

She took one step after the other and then another and another. Never looking backwards to the woman she loved and had now devastated. One step in front of the other. Walking away from what was, it occurred to her, her last chance at true happiness.

ii. Öenthir.

It had taken almost the entire two weeks, but now, after reading the spellbook many times, she finally thought she had the nuances within her grasp. She would know when the spell had ‘locked’ in her mind when the words and diagrams upon the page would fade and disappear. This was the way of spellbooks. They were a one-time thing that, for all intents and purposes, became destroyed and useless when the spell was finally learned.

As she sat, outside, upon a chunk of wood hacked into the shape of a seat, she took a moment to go over what she had read, the book dropped upon her lap. It wasn’t such a bad place, this Saxhleel village of the Red Spine tribe. Less than a month ago she would have turned her nose up at everything she saw here. Now, however, she found it quaint, interesting and comforting, in a strange fashion. There was a peace here she had never experienced. A simplicity of mind and body that was captivating.

And she had learned so much, about herself, about the nature of magicka and of the world. The Sap-Speaker was not a mage, as people would consider under normal circumstances in the wider world, but he had a view, an outlook about the way magicka penetrated the reality they lived in that was completely new and fresh to her. And it had helped. She could feel her strength and focus magnifying, despite the Sap-Speaker not allowing her to use her magicks in her training. She was, she knew instinctively, better.

Drawn out of her thoughts, she saw Itagaki striding towards the hut that they had shared for the last two weeks. Despite the Redguard’s control of her outward emotional reactions, she seemed upset, for certain. She tried to catch Itagaki’s attention, but the Redguard stormed past her into the hut. Concerned, she followed her, dropping the book on the makeshift seat.

“Itagaki?” She let the reed curtain fall behind her and found the Redguard stuffing her things into her pack, savage and furious. “Are you going somewhere?”

The Redguard said nothing, but the waves of emotion crashing through the binding told Öenthir much. She put her hand on Itagaki’s arm, only for the Redguard to wrench it away. Undeterred, she tried again, gripping the Redguard’s sleeve and turning her around to face her. The tears in Itagaki’s eyes spoke volumes.

“What’s happened?” She spoke with gentleness. The very idea of Itagaki ever crying was something Öenthir could never have imagined. The stoic, reserved but fierce and loyal Redguard was usually so measured, so upright. To see her like this was a shock, to say the least. “It’s alright. You can talk to me.”

“I have been so foolish.” The Redguard fell into Öenthir’s arms and sobbed.

Öenthir could do nothing but hold her friend, caught out by the Redguard’s emotions, both in reality and in her mind as the binding shared the flood of so many different but connected feelings. She held Itagaki tight, listening to what had happened, hearing how Itagaki had fought against her feelings, of giving in, back-tracking through fear and up to her last encounter with Tilly.

Another emotion was in Öenthir’s mind now, this one her own. She felt such anger towards the dark elf. She knew Tilly appeared emotionless, but this was cruel.

She waited until Itagaki had recovered her emotional control, making certain that she would be fine and then stormed out of the hut. It took her a few minutes before she finally found Tilly, leaning on a walking stick and talking with Revna, another one of her friends who Tilly had thrown their kindness back in their face.

Striding up to them both, Tilly turned around in time for a punch to hit her firmly in her face, falling backwards to land on her backside in the dirt, the walking stick flying from her hand.

“You don’t get to treat people like that! People aren’t toys that you can break and throw away!” She loomed over the prone, surprised, form of the dark elf, her fists clenched and boiling hot. “I should have let you die.”

Before she could do anything she might regret, she turned away, storming back to the hut and Itagaki.

“What have you done now, little elf?” Öenthir heard Revna say as she strode away.

Reaching the hut again, she paused outside for a second, to calm down, to slow her breathing and to gather her thoughts. She had been so close to casting a spell at Tilly. She had had her flame spell in her head, ready to cast and something else was there, too. Another spell. A more powerful spell. She had never been so angry. But she had fought that instinct down. She almost hadn’t, and that scared her.

She glanced at the makeshift chair outside the hut and the book upon it. Her hands still shaking, she reached down to pick it up, absentminded, opening it more from habit than to read it.

The pages were blank.

iii. Revna.

She didn’t need to spread her large form to cover the doorway, she only stood, her arms crossed and her feet planted firm to the ground, but there was no easy way to get past her. Itagaki stared up into Revna’s eyes, her emotional control completely returned. At least that Revna could see.

“You will let me leave, Khajiit. Or I will go through you.” Her hand rested upon the grip of her short sword.

“As much as it’d be fun to see how that fight would go, you won’t.” Revna stared at Itagaki with equal intensity, if with a little more empathy. “You know as well as I that you will not attack someone who is not your enemy. Or unarmed.”

The mutual stare continued for more than a few moments. Neither willing to give any ground, until Itagaki spun around in frustration. Grabbing the back rest of a chair, she threw it at the opposite wall, shattering it into firewood. Öenthir, standing to the side, flinched.

“You just can’t go running off to the next tomb alone!” Öenthir moved to Itagaki’s side. “It’s madness to even try.”

“Either we all go, or none of us.” Revna relaxed a little. “If that means I have to fight you to keep you here, I will, but, unlike you, I will cheat to win. Just a fair warning.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” The Redguard’s shoulders slumped. She reached for Öenthir’s hand and clasped it. “You are far too honourable for that, my friend. My emotions are compromised. I need to meditate. I will not go to the tomb alone.”

Itagaki took off the pack that she was wearing and dropped it to the floor. Stepping up to Revna, she held her hands out to the side and looked up. Her eyes no longer burned with anger, but Revna wasn’t quite satisfied.

“Perhaps you should leave your swords? Let Wen look after them while you meditate.” She saw the flash of anger in the Redguard’s eyes, for a second, and then it was gone. “No-one will touch them. I promise you that. But you’ll not go anywhere without your swords.”

With eyes that never left Revna’s, Itagaki made a show of taking her swords from her sash, holding them out to the Khajiit. Revna pointed at the bed the Redguard had been using the past two weeks and Itagaki placed the swords on it.

“Satisfied?” She returned to stand before Revna and Revna placed a caring hand on each side of the Redguard’s face.

“Go. Meditate. Centre yourself.” She dipped her head to look into Itagaki’s eyes. “We need you. We need you as you need us. At our best. We are bound and we are friends and friends only want the best for each other.”

Revna stepped aside and watched Itagaki as she left, walking across the village to the place she had found to be the best for her meditations. When she was out of sight, Revna leant back against the door frame and let out a sigh of relief.

“She wouldn’t really have tried to fight you?” The Bosmer joined Revna at the doorway. “Would she?”

Revna couldn’t tell Öenthir that she had, in truth, feared that Itagaki had been angry enough to darken her honour by attacking an unarmed opponent. She had looked into the Redguard’s eyes and had seen fury. Felt it too, through the binding. But only a fellow warrior could tell the subtle changes in stances, the placement of her hand and fingers on the grip of her sword, the tightening of certain muscles ready to explode into violence.

“No.” She put her arm around Öenthir’s shoulder and they stepped out into the afternoon sun. “Everything was fine.”

“So, what now?” The mage put her arm around Revna’s waist and leaned her head against the Khajiit’s chest. “How are we going to work together with those two acting like this?”

“We will, because we have to.” Revna squeezed the mage’s shoulder. “Keep an eye on her. If she tries to leave again, shout. I’m going to have a quiet word with the little elf.”

iv. Itagaki.

She had shamed herself!

These were not the actions of a warrior, but of a love sick child watering the desert sand with their tears. It was not acceptable.

She needed her swords. Not to run away to attempt to complete the task they had been set, that was foolish in the extreme, but the closeness of her weapons would aid her meditations. Her mind was clearing, somewhat, but she was far from being calm. She had told Revna that the weapon was only an extension of her body, but now it felt like someone had removed her arms.

The Khajiit had requested that she leave her weapons behind in the hut as a precaution. She saw the wisdom in that. She did not begrudge her friend taking that step. She would have done the same thing if it had been the Khajiit. Revna would never leave without her great sword, Jotnbann, and she would not leave without The Sword and The Companion. It was good, strategic sense.

“Leki give me the strength to overcome my weakness.” She held her hands clasped before her, index fingers pointing upwards, pressed together. “Help me to calm my spirit and mind, for a warrior with a disordered mind is barely a warrior at all.”

The Argonian children had, for the most part, avoided her since she had entered the village. The more open and talkative of her friends had been far more interesting to them, but now she had a small crowd watching her from a distance, whispering among themselves.

Rising from her kneeling position, she stood in the ready stance to begin the unarmed form. A difficult pattern that required exact concentration and perfect movements. It was a complex form due to the fact that a Redguard from her tribe was very rarely without a weapon. When one is not used to fighting unarmed, the need to practice it becomes even more important.

Instead of the Dance of the Swords, she performed the Dance of the Hands. Gliding from one stance to the next, sweeping her hands up here, arcing her leg up and around there. Stepping back in defence, striding forward in attack. Circling one way, dipping, circling the other. She could hear the ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of the children at each movement. It was a beautiful and deadly dance.

Upon stepping back into the ready stance, hands clasped as they had been before, she found that her mind had cleared much. Her emotions once again under her control and not the other way around. She felt calm. The Sword Saint had heard her pleas and blessed her with peace once again.

“Beeko-ojel.” One of the Argonian children, braver than the others, had approached her. He held out his spear to her. “Teach? Show? Please.”

She regarded the boy, his age difficult to gauge. He was not as tall as some the other Argonian children, nor was he as thick set. His scales had not yet begun to lustre, still retaining the dullness of his youth. His feathers were short tufts growing like a crown about his head, but his eyes were bright and eager.

She accepted the spear that he offered her, testing its weight and balance. Then, stepping back into some space, she proceeded to move through several sections of the spear form, the spear flashing and spinning in arcs around her body and head, ending with the point aimed at the child’s nose. One last spin of the spear and the butt end was now pointed at his nose and she tapped it with a smile.

The Argonian children erupted in cheers and clicks and hisses and all of them swept forward.

“Very well, little beeko. Let us begin.” She tossed the spear to the boy and proceeded to show them all the first section of the spear form.

The thoughts of Tilly were not gone, but she had subsumed them for the moment. She was back in control, at least for the time being, and that made her happy. People were too complicated, too chaotic. With a weapon in her hands and an enemy to face, or a child to teach it would seem, there was order. There was simplicity. She wished all life was so simple.


	17. Chapter 17

17

i. Revna.

It had taken another week before Tilly was well enough for them to even consider travelling onwards. She still wasn’t completely healed, but she could walk unaided now. She was even able to complete more strenuous tasks, but these tired her sooner and more than they would under normal circumstances. Whether she could fight or not, if the need arose, was a different matter. Revna kept a close eye on her, either way.

“Sanguine’s filthy flagon! Why don’t you try drinking it for once!” The dark elf pulled a disgusting face as Revna tried to get her to drink her medicine. “It smells like piss and shit boiled together with a rotting skeever carcass and it tastes worse!”

“Nevertheless, it’s that stuff that’s healed you.” Revna leaned over from her horse and tapped the bottom of the bottle held by Tilly. “Drink up.”

Tilly made a petulant look towards Revna but drank as ordered. Revna tried to hide her smile as the colour of Tilly’s dark skin darkened and she retched after drinking. She’d smelled the concoction once and that had been enough. It was foul, but the Argonians had sworn it would make the Dunmer healthy again.

They had been riding for days towards the second tomb and Revna had been the only one to continue speaking with the dark elf. The others were ignoring her completely. Revna didn’t have the heart to ignore anyone, especially after Tilly had finally explained her reasonings.

The dark elf had not gone into details about her dream, only that it had predicted that she would betray them. Revna didn’t like hearing that, but she reasoned that anyone that was about to betray someone would be among the biggest fools alive if they told the people they were about to betray. Still, she let Tilly know that she would be keeping an eye on her, to be safe.

“Do you think they’ll ever talk to me again?” Tilly nodded towards Itagaki and Öenthir riding a few yards ahead of them.

“No.” Revna held her face straight as Tilly’s head snapped around.

“Well, thanks for being gentle with me about it.” Tilly had descended into even more sarcasm than usual since the incident at the Argonian village. It was, most like, her way of coping, but, to Revna, it meant that she wasn’t brooding about it.

“You asked.” Reaching down, Revna lifted her water skin and took a drink. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve never been in love and I’ve never been in this situation, so I really don’t know.”

“You’ve never been in love? What, ever?” Tilly turned in her saddle to stare at Revna.

“Not ever.” It wasn’t awkward for Revna to talk about. It was the way it was. “There was one lad, back in the old village, but he was never interested in me, no matter how many times I beat him at wrestling.”

“So, wait, does that mean you’re a virgin?” It was obvious to Revna that Tilly was about to have a field day with this news.

“Yes.” She prepared herself for the expected onslaught of jokes and insults.

“Still a virgin.” Tilly murmured to herself and had a serious look upon her face. “I’m sorry. To go through life without ever ... well, I’m sorry.”

This was quite unexpected and Revna had no idea how to react. She decided to carry on riding in silence for a while, but, it seemed, Tilly was having none of that. The dark elf leaned over and tapped Revna’s arm.

“Well, we’re going to have to rectify that, eh.” The Dunmer winked at Revna.

“We’re really not.” Rolling her eyes, Revna continued riding. She was sure she didn’t want to know how Tilly wanted to rectify it.

“Soon as we’re back in Skyrim, I know this whorehouse that has the best whores in the whole of Tamriel, whatever your tastes.” Tilly was warming to the subject now. “I mean, you like big blonde Nord men, eh? Well, the men in this place aren’t just big, they’re big. If you know what I mean.”

“I think it would be impossible for a deaf person to not know what you mean. Put your hands down!” She felt her face flush under her fur, especially as the distance between Tilly’s two hands had been astonishing. “I don’t want a whore. If I ever sleep with someone, if, it’ll be with someone I love.”

“Well, I hope you do.” Revna caught the unexpected tenderness in Tilly’s voice and she caught the dark elf looking forward towards Itagaki. “I really do.”

They lapsed into silence after that. Tilly had revealed a side of herself that Revna believed she rarely ever let anyone see. Revna felt strangely privileged to have heard it, if she was honest, and she wondered if the Dunmer was having second thoughts about how she had treated Itagaki. Of course, whether Itagaki ever let the dark elf get close again seemed unlikely at the moment.

As if she instinctively knew she was being thought about, Itagaki turned around in her saddle and looked at Revna at that moment. It was unlikely, even with the binding, that she knew, but it was a strange coincidence.

“It will be getting dark soon. We should find somewhere to camp.” Itagaki didn’t even glance at Tilly. “We should reach the second tomb tomorrow.”

The Redguard turned back around and spoke to Öenthir. Revna sighed. Itagaki’s attitude was understandable, but they needed to work as a team when they entered the tomb. If the Dwemer mage, Onzngknd, was anything like other Dwemer, there would be any number of strange, mechanical protectors within the tomb and none of them had ever seen one let alone fought one.

They would need to work together better than they had previously and, to do that, they would have to talk. Revna had sympathy for both Itagaki and Tilly, but they couldn’t have chosen a worse time to fall out with each other.

ii. Öenthir.

Now that she had ingrained one of the spells, that the dark elf had ‘found’ for her, she had begun work on the second one, the Rune Prison. This one was going to be more difficult to learn, she believed, and the third book, the portal spell, would be the most difficult of them all. She had prioritised, as well as she was able, to learn the easiest spell first. That way she would have more to offer to the group in their task.

The Crystal Shard spell had been more difficult than she had imagined, though. Two weeks of reading the spell book over and over had been exhausting and it had only been her anger with Tilly that had finally solidified it in her mind.

She wondered if that was the nature of these darker, Ayleid based spells. Was emotion a key component to them? That was something to keep in mind and, if she got out of this alive, would make a perfect subject for a paper for the Mages Guild.

For now, with her Mage Light hovering over her shoulder, she studied the Rune Prison spell book. It was like a maze for the mind. A more difficult spell she had never tried to learn. Even more exhausting than the Crystal Shard spell, it was like the spell book was absorbing some of her energy every time she opened it, which meant she could only study it in short bursts.

In one of the many rest periods between reading, she watched as Revna sat with the dark elf, chatting away. She hated that and she had no idea how Itagaki felt about it. Of course, if anyone would continue talking to the dark elf, it was Revna. Not because Revna thought that the dark elf was right, or justified in what she did, but because that was Revna. Whether she knew it or not, the Khajiit was a natural mediator.

It was, she admitted to herself, the right thing to do anyway. They had a job to do and they would not be able to accomplish it if the dark elf decided to leave. The binding would not allow her to leave unpunished and Öenthir knew that the headache, that would occur if the dark elf left them, would compromise her spell-casting abilities. She remembered the headache that they had all suffered, back in Riften when she had considered running away herself, and how she found it difficult to concentrate to speak with anyone, let alone focus on the casting of a difficult spell.

She tried to read the spell book again, but she had done too much for the day. The words, sigils and symbols were all blurring into one. Closing the book, she rubbed her eyes and sighed. She was never going to be of much help at this rate. She made her Mage Light move to above the campfire and brightened it a little.

“Not too bright, my friend.” Itagaki pointed to their surroundings. The best place they had found for the camp was too open for the Redguard’s liking. “We do not know if we are alone.”

“Of course. Sorry.” She dimmed the Mage Light and lowered it a slight. She wanted to keep using her spells as much and as long as she could maintain them. The practice was doing her use of magicka the world of good. “Do you think we have anything to worry about?”

“I do not know, but it is better to be safe. Is it not?” Itagaki smiled at her. “I think the Red Spines would have told us if there was anything out here, but we should maintain caution, even so.”

She was right. The Redguard, ever the strategist, the planner, knew that letting their standards slip, even once, could end up biting them. Black Marsh was a strange land with even stranger creatures wondering around in its watery environs and they still didn’t know who had sent those men after them back in Skyrim, or whether they would try again.

That seemed to have happened so long ago now, even though it had only been a few weeks. From standing back watching horses, to letting a troll chase her and her Mage Light, to an Ayleid ghost and to incinerating a vicious Kotu Gava, she had come a long way. And not only in miles (although that was not insignificant, either). But there was much further to go, in distance and in her abilities.

“We should get some rest.” Itagaki put more wood onto the fire. “I will take first watch.”

Öenthir didn’t need telling twice. After reading the Rune Prison spell book, she felt quite tired. She laid down on her bedroll, resting her head on her satchel, and closed her eyes. She tried to listen to the sounds of the animals and insects in their surroundings, but all she could focus upon were the whispers between Revna and the dark elf.

They were talking about a dream that the dark elf had had, but the dark elf would not go into details. Except for one thing. That the dream had been ‘right’ and ‘correct’ apart from the presence of something that was not supposed to be there. The words they spoke made her memory itch, but she couldn’t quite work out of what their words reminded her.

She couldn’t stay awake any longer and the whispers faded from her ears as she drifted away. She did not dream, that night, but her mind continued trying to work out why the dark elf’s experience in her dream seemed familiar. It was there, in the back of her mind, if only she could reach it.

iii. Tilly.

She hated it! (She really didn’t). Absolutely, thoroughly and completely despised it! (That was hyperbole of the highest order and she knew it).

With the other two completely ostracising her, she had fallen into a ‘friendship’ with that big, gallumping oaf of a Khajiit! And ... and she admitted to herself, however much she begrudged it, that she actually quite liked the faux Nord Khajiit. Actually liked her quite a lot.

It made her furious that she had to set aside the dislike for Revna, that she had cultivated with such care since that very first day they met in Riften. She was funny, sometimes without even realising it, she was kind and forgiving. Tilly almost felt like throwing up thinking about how ‘nice’ Revna was. But she was and, in this period where the Khajiit was the only one talking to her, she did appreciate it. A little.

Thinking of the other two was like speaking Sheogorath’s name. Say it too often and the mad bastard might appear. And here they were, after a morning sat whispering among themselves Öenthir and Itagaki came towards her and Revna. Tilly sighed and threw the last scrap of bacon, she had been eating, into the fire. Was this more of the bollockings she had come to expect?

“Your dream. What was it about?” The mage had returned to her haughty aloofness around Tilly, looking down her nose at something less than her.

“It was about a bunch of people minding their own bloody business.” Tilly laid back against her saddle, crossing her arms, daring the Bosmer to continue. “And they all lived happily ever after.”

“Be good, little elf.” Revna dipped her head, not wanting to get between this.

“No!” She turned towards Revna, showing Öenthir and Itagaki her back and pointing a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m ignored for days. Looked at like a piece of shit on their boots and now they want to talk about my dreams? I don’t think so!”

“It may be important.” It was Itagaki that spoke now.

Tilly pursed her lips tight and continued looking at Revna. For her part, the Khajiit raised her eyebrows, or, at least, that part of her forehead that would have eyebrows if she wasn’t covered in all that fur. It was a questioning look and Tilly knew exactly what she was implying. If she played this right, if she played along, the frosty reception she was receiving may thaw a little. It couldn’t hurt, that was for certain.

“Alright. It was a memory.” She turned back around, crossing her arms again. “A pretty painful and personal memory, if you must know and one which I don’t want to talk about. Thank you very much.”

“Revna?” The mage tried to appeal to the Khajiit.

“I’m staying out of it. I’m on no-one’s side here.” She held up her hand waving away any responsibility.

“No, you remember I told you about the dream I had? Back in Abah’s Landing?” Öenthir crouched beside Revna, her hands on the Khajiit’s arm.

“I remember you said it was like a memory. That it disturbed you. Why?” Revna furrowed her brow.

“I didn’t tell you what disturbed me about it.” The mage looked at Tilly then. “My dream was a memory. A memory of a painful, personal time. Sound familiar?”

“So? A coincidence.” She scoffed and turned her head away as if to end the conversation.

“And there was something else. Someone. A presence in the dream that was not there in real life.” The mage spoke in very clear, very precise tones, not wanting Tilly to miss what she said and Tilly turned her head back to Öenthir. “A presence that was wrong. Evil. As if it was evaluating me. Testing me. Does that sound familiar?”

“But you couldn’t see it, no matter how hard you tried.” She had turned back completely and stared at Öenthir. “Always just out of reach. Always there in ...”

“... the corner of your eye.” The eyes of Öenthir and Tilly locked together.

“What does this mean?” Tilly felt concerned and confused. “Has anyone else had one of these dreams.”

Both Revna and Itagaki shook their heads. Tilly wondered why she and Öenthir had been the only ones to experience this memory/dream thing and the shadowy, sinister presence within them. Was it because they were elves? Was it because the two warriors didn’t dream the same way?

“I don’t know what this means. I have thoughts, but nothing solid.” The wood elf saw the questioning looks from the others. “It might be something to do with the binding. I don’t know. Maybe it’s Jarl Borgun leaking into our dreams and we just think it’s sinister because he’s not meant to be there. But maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s someone else. Something else.”

“Whatever it is, whoever it is, I believe we should keep each other informed if any of us have these dreams.” Itagaki looked at them all with intensity, even at Tilly. “Agreed?”

They all nodded their heads and then separated to begin breaking the camp down.

Tilly didn’t like the idea of people wandering around in her head. There were too many things in there that she would rather people never find out about. Things that, if spoken aloud, could get her killed. Things that could get others killed. Her mind was not somewhere for anybody to have access to.

This made it even more important that they finish the task they had accepted and to finish it fast. They needed to break the binding before someone got hurt because of it. Especially herself.

iv. Itagaki.

It was not what she was expecting. She doubted any of them had expected this. When one thought of a tomb of someone like Onzngknd, it was, she mused, the idea of a large building. Somewhere that made a proud proclamation of the final resting place of someone of great importance. This was not that.

Set in a flat, desolate area of the Blackwood Borderlands, with nothing but low hills surrounding it, it seemed almost insignificant. There were no trees anywhere near it and no birds appeared to fly within a few hundred yards of it. It was as if nature itself wanted no part of it.

It was a squat building, around fifteen feet in height, including the dull, copper coloured dome. Formed in the shape of a cube, thirty feet to each side, it was a strange amalgam of stone and a strange kind of metal that Itagaki had never encountered before.

Her father, in addition to being a warrior was also an accomplished metal smith. She had spent many an hour with him at his forge (when she wasn’t training) and, even though she showed no aptitude for smithing, she had learnt much from him. This metal was not one she had encountered before.

There were pipes, too. Several, thick metal pipes that emerged from the ground and fed into the building and, with those pipes, came the sound of steam passing through them and of metal knocking against metal in a steady, clockwork rhythm.

“There’s a door, on the eastern side, but I can’t open it.” Revna had ridden her horse all the way around the building. “Maybe it’s magickal?”

“There’s no magicka here.” Öenthir had been concentrating towards the building. “Unless it’s being hidden. I can’t feel anything.”

The three of them rode around to the eastern side of the building, dismounted and joined the dark elf at the metal door. She was crouching before it, running her hands across various reliefs and symbols worked into and attached to the door.

“It’s some kind of combination lock. I’ve seen them before. Not as complicated as this, though.” The dark elf was murmuring to herself and then she turned and spoke to the others. “But, yes, I can unlock it. You’re welcome.”

“Be good, little elf!” The dark elf scowled at Revna but didn’t fire back one of her usual insults. Instead, she turned back to the door and continued examining it.

“My friend.” Itagaki faced Revna. “A word, if I may?”

Revna nodded and they moved a short distance from the others. The Khajiit remained silent, waiting for Itagaki to speak.

“I know this must be difficult for you.” She tried to gauge what her friend was thinking, but a Khajiit face was difficult to read if they wanted it to be. “I do not wish to place you in the middle of my, our, quarrel.”

“I’m not in the middle of anything.” The Khajiit placed a hand on Itagaki’s shoulder. “You are all my friends, even Tilly, and I can’t just ignore her, no matter what she has done. This thing between you and Tilly, that’s between you two. All I can say is that she had a reason. It’s a damned stupid reason, but I will tell you this. It was not a selfish one.”

“What do you mean?” She glanced towards the dark elf, still labouring with the door lock.

“I’ve said too much already. It’s not my place.” Revna looked awkward now. “Let’s just say a bad thing done for the right reasons is still a bad thing. You have every right to be angry at her. Just ask yourself why she really did it, eh?”

With that Revna shrugged her shoulders, raising her eyebrows, and turned back to the others, leaving Itagaki wondering what, exactly, the ‘right reasons’ could be for the games the dark elf had played with her.

Itagaki wasn’t a weeping child prone to bawling at every opportunity, but neither was she made from stone, regardless of how much she gave that impression. She wasn’t stupid, either. So what, if anything, had she missed? If there was, indeed, a reason that the dark elf had treated her so bad and that it was not a selfish reason, then she needed to find out what it was. For the sake of her sanity, if nothing else.

“Got it!” The dark elf jumped to her feet, throwing her hands in the air in triumph and turned in a slow circle as if she was receiving the adulation of an arena’s crowd.

Behind her, the door to the building began to lower into the ground, accompanied by the clicking of ratchets and the sound of steam evacuating somewhere.

Itagaki joined the others staring into the mouth of the doorway and inside the building beyond. It was well lit. That was for certain. Bright, warm light emanated from tubing that was inset into the metal and stone walls. It almost felt like sunlight as it peeked out through the doorway.

As for the rest of it, it was empty.

There was nothing there at all. No tomb, as such. No body. No strange automated protectors. Nothing.

They all, with caution, one-by-one, stepped inside the building. Even upon a closer look, they could not see anything that they would consider a tomb. Around the edges, at several points, they found large, thick gears with teeth that looked like they had not ground together in centuries.

“I think this is a lever. Or a switch.” The mage was reaching up towards the piece of metal that she had identified.

“Stop!” Itagaki almost flew across the room and held Öenthir’s hand before she could activate the switch. “Not yet.”

“We need to make sure we’re ready and not get caught surprised by anything.” Revna added her caution, then turned to Itagaki. “Hammers.”

She nodded. None of them had encountered the mythical Dwemer automated defences before, but, if they were metal as they had heard, hammers would be far more useful than her beloved swords.

Following Revna outside, she went to her horse and removed the two Argonian one-handed hammers that she had spent so much time practicing with. Revna, also, had taken a new, big, two-handed Argonian hammer from her weapons roll. Even Öenthir had exited the building and taken out the beautiful staff that Revna had carved for her. Only the dark elf was without a suitable weapon, but she didn’t seem to care.

Once they had secured their horses, they reentered the building, holding their weapons at the ready. Each of them felt nervous, that feeling crashing like an ever moving wave through the binding. Itagaki nodded to Öenthir.

The wood elf mage hesitated and then pulled the lever.


	18. Chapter 18

18

i. Öenthir.

At first nothing happened and all the companions glanced at each other with questioning faces. Then the lighting changed from the mellow, sun-like colour to a harsh red that flicked on and off at regular intervals. The door to the outside began to rise and Revna almost dashed to try and keep it open, but stopped by a calming hand on her shoulder by Itagaki.

The noises began, then, as soon as the door closed. The sound of metal grinding on metal, of steam being set free. The metallic clicking sound came more often and louder. And then the floor moved, the thick gears at the side of the room began to turn and the whole floor began to descend.

Slow, at first, and with increasing speed, the floor and the companions descended, past the footprint of the building and down, down, down leaving the building in the distance far above them.

Öenthir tried to calculate how far down they were going, but the rate of descent and the flashing red lights that would appear every few feet at the side of the shaft began to make her feel nauseated. She closed her eyes, still trying to count the seconds.

By the time the descent ended, she found that she had instinctively moved back to the centre of the moving floor and had clasped the arm of the first person she could find.

“It’s alright.” It was the dark elf’s voice and her hand that patted her own. “You can open your eyes. We’ve stopped.”

They had, indeed, stopped and she pulled her hand away from the dark elf, opening her eyes.

The lights had returned to the colour that they had been, revealing a long corridor ahead of them made from the same metal and stone as the building above. On the ceiling, two thick pipes led off into the distance.

“Any idea how far down we came?” The first to step off the platform that had lowered them down here, Itagaki surveyed their surroundings.

“Hundreds of feet.” She stared upwards into the shaft they had come down, but there was nothing but blackness above now. “I can’t be more specific. It was difficult to keep track.”

“More importantly, can we get back up?” The dark elf had, as usual, hit upon the most burning question. “There’s little point putting ourselves at risk if we can’t get out to take the last gem back, is there?”

Öenthir looked at the dark elf to make a point that she still wasn’t talking to her. At least, not as she had before. She looked around the walls and found what she was looking for, another lever, exactly the same as the one upstairs.

“Hypothetically, yes.” She aimed the answer to the other two.

“Then let’s find this Onzngknd and give him his damned gem back.” Revna swung the Argonian hammer onto her shoulder and began to walk down the corridor.

Distance, in the corridor, was difficult to gauge, but Öenthir believed they had walked for almost a mile before they found anything other than the enormous long corridor. To the left, they found a door with grill viewport at about Itagaki’s head height. On tip-toes, she could about see inside.

It was a small room that had various banks of switches, levers and knobs set against the walls. The strangest thing, though, was the metal creature that trundled from one bank of switches to another, twisting knobs, flipping switches in some set pattern.

Öenthir found herself fascinated by the contraption. Wondering how it moved on the ball at its base. What is was powered by. What it was actually doing. Her curiosity may never end by such a thing and she had to drag herself away. All of this she could explore later, one day, as soon as they had finished the task and saved the Jarl’s daughter.

Whether the contraption had seen them or not, she couldn’t tell. It hadn’t so much as looked over towards the door and, for certain, had made no move towards it. It was possible it had not seen them, or did not consider them a threat. Regardless, if the rest of this Dwemer tomb was half as docile, this could be the easier of the two tombs they had encountered.

“How much further can this hall go?” As impatient as ever to get to some kind of fighting, Revna was becoming annoyed. “If it goes on for much longer, maybe we should have brought down more supplies with us.”

“There’s no way of knowing.” She tried to placate the Khajiit. “It can’t be too much further before we find something.”

“What supplies did we all bring?” It should have been something that Itagaki would have thought about sooner and Öenthir could see the Redguard felt annoyed with herself for it taking this long before she considered it. “I have my water skin and perhaps a day’s worth of salted meat strips.”

“Same.” Revna replied.

“I have water.” The dark elf shrugged. “Well, half of what I had. It’s been a long walk.”

“I have some food and spare water in my satchel, but I don’t know how long it will last.” She watched as Itagaki considered this.

“We should continue. If it starts looking like this place is too big to continue without more rations, we go back. Agreed?” There was a series of nods towards Itagaki and Öenthir added her own.

If push came to shove, she could always summon her rain cloud for water, but food, down here, could be very scarce. Metal environments were not well known to house animal life. At least, not the kind of animals that are generally considered edible.

There were only two options; continue on, or turn back. Neither Itagaki or Revna were the kind of people that abandoned things well, although, as warriors, they understood the benefits of retreat. The dark elf would, most like, turn back now, if she could, but her concerns for that woman ended there. As far as Öenthir felt concerned, if it wasn’t for the binding, the dark elf could have run away weeks ago.

And so they continued on, following the seeming endless, almost featureless corridor to whatever there was at the end. She only hoped they found something soon.

ii. Itagaki.

The length of the corridor was becoming monotonous with nothing to show whether it was going anywhere or if there was an end at all. She paid serious consideration to turning around, to return to the surface and get their full set of supplies. The last thing they needed was finding themselves caught far from the entrance without any food or water.

“What is the point of this?” The dark elf had kept up with them, but she seemed to be tiring more than the rest of them. She leaned against the metal wall and took a drink from her water skin. “Why not just have the entrance near the actual tomb? This is ridiculous.”

“Maybe it’s to discourage tomb robbers?” Revna stood beside the dark elf, worrying as usual. “If you were a tomb robber and faced this journey, wouldn’t you give it up as a waste of time?”

“With a chance of gold and riches at the end?” Accepting the Khajiit’s offered hand, the dark elf stood upright again. “Not bloody likely.”

Öenthir made a derisive snort at the dark elf’s money grabbing ways. She had continued on up the corridor for a short distance, staring ahead, tilting her head a slight. She clutched her new staff with both hands, leaning against it.

“The light is different.” She looked back over her shoulder. “Down there. I think we’re close to something. A junction, or a room.”

“Then we had better go see.” Itagaki adjusted her grip on the Argonian hammers she carried. They were heavier than her swords and, even with the amount she had practiced with them, they were difficult to carry. “If it is nothing significant, I think we should turn back and get properly supplied.”

“Aye. That’s probably for the best.” Revna gave a light-hearted back hand tap against the dark elf’s arm, almost knocking her over. “Especially as this idiot didn’t bring anything.”

“How was I supposed to know we’d be walking down the longest tunnel in the world?” She hit Revna with a hard, retaliatory punch that didn’t appear to even register on the Khajiit’s face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“It is not your fault.” Despite her feelings about the dark elf, she would not torture the woman with false guilt. “None of us could have anticipated this. Let us check what it is that Wen has seen.”

Once again, they started forward. They continued on for another four or five hundred yards. The distance was difficult to calculate. Soon they reached what Öenthir had seen, a right hand turn that seemed to be there for no other reason than for a change of pace, except, ahead, there was another turn, to the left.

With caution, they moved forward. Itagaki placed her back against the wall and glanced around the edge of the left-hand turn and then stepped out. The others followed and soon saw what she had found. A door.

Finally, after what seemed like miles, they had found something different. She made a close examination of the door, but couldn’t see any of the markings that they had found on the door on the surface, so she presumed that this did not have a combination lock. She looked towards Öenthir and the wood elf stepped forward.

“No magicka, again. Maybe there’s a switch?” She looked around the edges of the doorway and then saw the dark elf leaning against something. “Something like that.”

The dark elf turned around, lifting herself away from the wall and, there, where she had been leaning, was a small glowing protrusion from the surface of the wall. The dark elf looked at them all, shrugged, and then pressed the button.

Unlike the door on the surface, which opened downwards, and slow, this door split into two pieces that each shot into the sides of the door frame with hissing whoosh. Beyond the doorway was only darkness. All that they could see was a few feet of the floor lit by the light from the corridor.

Revna shifted the weight of her new Argonian hammer in her hands and began to move forward into the doorway. As soon as she set foot beyond the door, lights began to flicker on in the darkness and they all heard an audible gasp erupt from the Khajiit.

“Shor’s bones.” Revna muttered to herself in a state of semi-shock.

They had emerged, through the door, into an immense cavern, stretching far above them and dropping far, far below them. The cavern seemed made partly from some kind of natural cave, with some parts reinforced with stone and the strange Dwarven metal that they had found almost everywhere through the corridor. Lights, exactly like the ones in the corridor and the building on the surface but larger, hung at exact intervals around the sides of the cavern and at similar intervals going upwards and down into the depths.

They found themselves on some kind of landing with no barrier between them and the steep drop beyond. The landing led to a descending walkway made from sections of the Dwarven metal, about ten feet across and twenty feet long, hugging the sides of the cavern but seeming not attached to anything but each other.

The walkway spiralled downwards to a bottom that they could not gain clean sight of, far below them.

“Well, I don’t know about anybody else, but I’m impressed.” The dark elf, without an ounce of fear, leaned over the edge, her hands on her knees, staring down.

iii. Tilly.

She felt useless. The others all had something that they could contribute to this part of their expedition, but she had nothing but her wits and an ever expanding hoard of daggers and knives. One she had ‘found’ in the Argonian village was the sweetest. Carved in its entirety from some kind of bone.

If what the others had told her was true about the kinds of things they could find, down here in this metallic place, her daggers and knives would be as useless as using her hands. Creatures made of metal with no blood to spill and no muscles to slice? What can a dagger do against them?

Nevertheless, she followed them down into the depths of this sprawling Dwemer construction, hoping that she could, at least, stay out of the way if things became hairy.

“I think I can see the bottom.” She had, once again, stared over the edge of the spiralling walkway. She wasn’t afraid of the height. It was the sudden stop at the end of a fall that would concern her if she fell.

“I’ll take your word for it.” The Khajiit had almost hugged the side of the walkway that was closest to the wall. Tilly would have laughed, but it was quite adorable that the big Khajiit, afraid of no creature, first into battle as often as she could be, recoiled at the thought of high falls.

“Are either of your gems doing anything?” She asked of Revna and, by implication, Itagaki. “Like Wen’s in the other place. Glowing? Making a noise? Anything?”

Revna reached under her ‘Scorpion Black’ armour and pulled out a small pouch. She loosened the drawstring, opened it and tipped out the gem into the palm of her hand. The gem was dark and lifeless. Revna shook her head and replaced the gem into its bag and the bag back under her armour.

Itagaki had taken out her gem. It, too, appeared to be devoid of any life. She turned to continue down the walkway, starting to put the gem away as she moved.

“Wait!” Öenthir put her hand on the Redguard’s arm, stopping her from replacing the gem. “I saw something. Move it around in different directions.”

The Redguard held up the gem and pointed it one way. Nothing happened. She tried two other directions and still nothing happened, until she pointed it in the last direction when a very dim glow began a slow pulse, within the gem. She moved it away and it stopped, then back to see the glow begin to pulse again. She pointed the gem downwards in the same direction and the glow grew a slight brighter. The pulse, a slight faster.

“We have a compass.” Itagaki smiled at Öenthir, even though it had been Tilly’s idea.

She didn’t care. To know that she had thought of something the others hadn’t was enough for her. Well, she did care. Only a little. But, as Itagaki and Öenthir continued walking down the spiralling path, it was Revna that acknowledged her ingenuity.

“Good work, little elf.” She didn’t even shrug the Khajiit’s arm away when she placed it over Tilly’s shoulder and squeezed. “I would never have thought of that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t!” She even smiled at Revna. “You’re just a big dumb cat.”

And there it was again, that high, musical laugh of the Khajiit. A laugh that almost shined and didn’t seem possible from someone so large. It was quite sweet, in its own way. Revna clapped her hand on Tilly’s shoulder and moved to follow the others, still laughing.

It wasn’t long before they finally reached the bottom of the spiral walkway, finding themselves in a circular area that had four doors leading from it. The gem, in Itagaki’s hand glowed when pointed towards one door.

There was no viewport in this door and no handle with which to open it. Standing to the side, nodding at Revna to see if she was ready, she pushed at the door which swung inward.

But there was nothing there. It was a small room with pipes along the walls and odd looking crates and boxes stacked, haphazard, in the corner. Itagaki opened one of the crates and picked up one of the contents, a small, thin arrow-like thing.

“Crossbow bolts?” The Redguard held it up to show Revna.

“Too thin for a crossbow bolt.” She took one out of the crate herself and turned it over, examining it up close. “Too short for a normal arrow. And look, notches in the shaft. I have no idea what could fire this.”

Tilly opened up another crate and found bottles of some kind, full and heavy with a convex bottom bulging out. She broke the seal and sniffed the contents.

“Oil.” She tipped some out onto her fingers and rubbed them together. “Too thin for lamps, though. It’d burn far too quickly and too hot, I should reckon. What is all this stuff for?”

They returned to the circular area to find that Öenthir had been checking the other doors, without help, like a fool. Luckily, two of the other doors led to similar sized rooms with similar contents of pipes, crates and boxes.

“This fourth door seems to be locked.” Tilly could tell that Öenthir didn’t want to, but the mage looked at her, inquiring.

With a sigh, Tilly moved to the door and began examining it. There was no lock that she could find. Likewise, at the sides, or above, she could find no switch or lever to facilitate opening the door. The only thing that was incongruous was a slight, shallow indentation in the centre. An indentation that was about the same size as the gem Itagaki carried.

“This is for you.” Tilly stepped aside and waved Itagaki forward. “In the centre. Touch your gem to it.”

Itagaki did so, slow and with care, touching the gem to the indentation. It glowed, brief and bright, and then dimmed again as they heard the sound of bolts shifting within the door. Finally, with a click, the door swung open revealing a short corridor, about thirty feet in length before it turned to the right.

The thing that caught the attention of all of them, though, was the cluster of about twenty, at a quick count, strange, spider-like metal things, about the size of mid-sized dogs, that lined the sides of the walls.

“Bugger me!” She exclaimed to herself.

iv. Revna.

She stepped forward, in front of Tilly and Öenthir, her big Argonian hammer at the ready. She was ready to start swinging that hammer like there was no tomorrow. A sword or an axe would be almost useless against these metal things if they attacked.

“Why aren’t they moving?” It was Öenthir, making a foolish attempt to step around the Khajiit’s big frame. Revna put her arm out, stopping the mage from going any further.

“Are they dead?” Tilly now looked around Revna to get a better look.

“They are creatures of metal.” Itagaki held her two smaller hammers at the ready. “I do not think they can be called alive or dead.”

The Redguard stepped forward, cautious, slow, staring at the nearest ‘spider’. It didn’t move. Even as she stood beside it and crouched down, trying to get a closer look. She looked up at Revna, her eyebrows rising in question.

Revna shook her head and shrugged her shoulders at the silent inquiry. She had never encountered a Dwemer creation. She had heard of them, of course. Skyrim had several recorded Dwemer ruins, it was possible the hard to reach valleys and passes of the region’s mountains held more, but she, herself, had never been even near one.

Itagaki stood again, making slow movements. Taking each step as quiet and precise as she could, she moved further down the corridor, passing each spider, concentrating for the slightest movement. She finally reached the turning point of the corridor and looked down it before turning her head back.

“There is another door and more of these things.” Her whisper seemed to echo louder than it should in the confines of the corridor. “I will try to open it.”

She disappeared around the corner and it was all Revna could do not to run after her, smashing anything metal she could lay the head of her hammer on. Every second the Redguard was out of sight felt like an hour. She could tell that both Tilly and Öenthir were feeling tense, too. The binding sharing what the mage was feeling and Tilly toying with one of her daggers, flicking and turning it in her hand in an absentminded fashion.

It seemed to take too long and Revna was about to follow Itagaki when the Redguard reappeared around the corner. She waved her hand for them to follow her. Revna turned to the other two.

“One at a time. Move quickly but carefully.” She held their eyes to drive the point home. “Do not stop moving. For any reason. Wen, you first.”

Nervous, her eyes wide, the wood elf stepped through the doorway. She began moving forward, head turning from side to side as she passed each spider. Revna tried to urge her to move faster, but the mage did gain speed as she got closer to the turn in the corridor. She must have seen Itagaki, as she turned the corner, her face showing strained relief, and she disappeared from sight.

“My turn, then.” Tilly patted Revna’s arm and squeezed it. “For luck.”

With a thieve’s grace, Tilly moved up the corridor like a shadow creeping along a wall. Her feet made no sound and stepped with such care and speed that Revna could do nothing but admire her skill.

There was a click. It seemed to be far louder than it should have sounded. Revna immediately glared at each spider in the corridor, but none seemed to have moved. It was then, in her peripheral vision, she saw the door swinging closed. It must have been set to close after a certain amount of time.

Without thinking, she jumped through the doorway before Tilly had reached the turn in the corridor, missing the door as it closed by less than an inch. It was unfortunate, then, that her unanticipated movement caused her to touch the nearest spider with her foot.

She tensed, staring at the spider, intent, focussed, willing it not to move.

At first, nothing happened and Revna believed she may have got away with it, but then one of the spider’s legs raised and fell with a metallic click upon the floor. Another raised leg followed and clicked as it fell again. Then the next spider in line raised a leg then returned it to the floor. And the next spider and the next.

“Run.” Revna whispered too loud as she stared at the spiders. She then raised her head to see Tilly had stopped and turned to look at her. She raised her voice. “Run!”

The spiders had begun moving, now. The sound of small gears turning, clicking of metallic legs hitting the floor, a strange wheezing sound all came as they moved, turning, almost as one, towards both Revna and Tilly.

Revna had no idea how these metal spiders could attack, but the one nearest to her, the one she had knocked, appeared to ‘look’ up at her as if it was aiming. She brought her hammer down upon the top of its casing, sending its legs sprawling beneath it, a great dent in its top. It sparked and ‘wheezed’, but its legs still jerked and twitched.

She didn’t waste any more time. Holding her hammer with one hand, she began to race through the awakening spiders, slamming into the wall at the turn of the corridor. She made a quick recovery and started to run again. She could see her friends through the next doorway urging her onwards as spider legs nipped at her heels, but there was also one spider that had moved to the centre of the corridor, standing in her way.

She didn’t stop running. With a mad, one-handed swing, she smashed the hammer into the spider, sending it flying through the doorway, almost hitting the heads of her friends. Bursting through the doorway, she trusted her friends to close the door after her and, drawing the hammer high into the air, brought it down, full force, with a great howl upon the metallic body of the spider she had hit, sending legs, gears and other pieces flying away from it.

Spinning around, she readied her hammer again, but her friends had not disappointed her. The door had closed and the sound of the spiders’ ineffective thumping against the door was far more welcome than the spiders following her through.

“It had to be you.” Tilly, her back against the door was grinning at Revna. “You great clod!”

“Aye, well we can’t all be as agile as a thief, can we?” Revna winked at the dark elf. “Is everybody else all right?”

“We are well, my friend.” Itagaki patted Revna on her back. “Get your breath back. I think we shall need it.”

Revna hadn’t taken the time to look around, but she did now. They had emerged into a large, long room, the majority of which held a large stretch of water. Presumably for the steam that they had heard hissing through the pipes throughout this bunker.

A bridge across the water had collapsed, or someone had destroyed it, and now only one section on either end remained.

Revna moved to the water’s edge and dipped her hand into the water with care.

“Warm, but not hot.” She shook the water from her hand and then gave a pained look towards Itagaki. “We’re going to have to swim, aren’t we?”

She groaned to herself. She hated swimming.


	19. Chapter 19

19

i. Itagaki.

With the aid of Öenthir’s incredible satchel, which remained watertight despite looking and feeling like an ordinary, leather satchel, they had somewhere to out their clothes and armour and only had to contend with their weapons as they swam to the other side of the lengthy pool.

It was Öenthir, again, that provided her flame spell to dry their underclothes before being able to get dressed again. The dark elf, of course, cared little about her nakedness while their small clothes dried. Öenthir slipped into a fresh set of everything, digging into her capacious bag and emerging with a fetching set of blue-dyed leather breeches, dark cotton blouse and a leather waistcoat that matched the breeches. Revna sat, uncomfortable, her back to the wall, covering her fur covered breasts.

For her part, Itagaki didn’t care about her nakedness, either. The difference between her and the dark elf was that it was a natural thing to do, not a chance to parade herself like the dark elf.

The mage had learned to control her flame spell to a much finer degree, the underclothes dried fast and they all were soon dressed once more. The dark elf took her time, dangling her feet in the warm water of the pool but, after a short time, joined them.

They took the opportunity of the enforced rest to have a small bite to eat. Enough to give them some energy, but not too much that would leave them short of the precious amount of food they had.

“We should get moving.” She adjusted her swords in her sash and picked up her one-handed hammers. “The door out of here is this way and the gem glows in that direction.”

“Just how much further do we have to go?” The dark elf looked tired, but didn’t show it.

“As far we must.” With her two-handed hammer over her shoulder, even Revna seemed to be feeling worn and forlorn. The swim hadn’t helped on that score.

They were all beginning to feel it. She had to admit to herself that she also felt that this Dwemer structure was endless. To go back now, though, would mean having to fight their way through those spider machines and she did not relish that thought.

Everything felt heavier now. Their steps that little bit more sluggish at the prospect of working their way through more of these corridors. A little more trepidatious at the thought that there may be more of the spiders, or worse, ahead.

But they moved. They made the steps forward, one after the other. They may be feeling the weight of the journey, but they kept going, all of them, where other people would have resigned themselves to failure. They were steadfast and stalwart, even the dark elf, and that was admirable.

Reaching the door, a larger door than any they had yet encountered, twice as high and twice as wide, the dark elf checked it for a lock. She studied the entire door and the walls at the side, but shook her head as she found nothing, not even an indentation for the Gem of Unison.

“There’s magicka here.” Öenthir held up her hand tracing the invisible forces that mages utilised. “Faint, but present. Try the gem.”

Itagaki took out the gem, the light inside it glowing and pulsing steady. She held it in front of her and made slow, careful steps towards the door. When she got to within a foot away from the door, the gem began to brighten and pulse more rapid, but in a disjointed, seeming random pattern.

As the pattern of pulsing continued, they heard clicks within the door, whirring sounds and the release of steam elsewhere, but close. Finally there was a grinding sound as gears crunched together and the door began to open, slow and halting.

She and Revna readied their weapons as the door continued its slow progress. To their left, Öenthir seemed to be preparing a spell as wisps of dark, blue/black energy circled her in waves. To the right, the dark elf had The Sisters at the ready, even though they would be little use against any of the metal creatures.

What they saw beyond the door was, they all thought, the strangest sight they had encountered on their journey. A large hall, some three hundred feet wide and long, with rock formations that were so incongruous to everything else they had encountered in the Dwemer structure so far. And, in various areas were what looked like huts, black, ribbed, organic looking huts with cooking fires in front of them.

But the strangest of all was the creature that stood before them. Bent backed, long arms almost scraping the floor, only a strip of leather covering its groin and pale blue, almost translucent skin. Its head turned to them, bald with elf-like ears, a mouth of sharp gruesome teeth and sightless white eyes.

“Falmer!” A gasp filled with fear erupted from the mage. “Y’ffre’s mercy!”

ii. Revna.

Before she could even react, a knife buried itself deep in the throat of the creature that Öenthir had identified as a ‘Falmer’. It fell to the floor clutching at its throat, black blood pouring from the wound and its mouth. Tilly was on it in a second, thrusting her dagger into the back of its head and into its brain before it could make a sound.

The dark elf grabbed one of its arms and dragged it back into the room and signalled for them all to stand to the side of the door, out of sight. She pulled the throwing knife from the creatures throat, wiping the blood from it on the Falmer’s almost see-through skin.

“I’ve seen these creatures before.” Tilly whispered as she poked her head around the door frame, watching for others. “One was brought to Mournhold. They thought they could train it as a slave, but it butchered the entire family before it could be killed.”

“What is it? It looks almost like an elf.” Revna knelt beside the creature, examining it. “But this is no elf I have seen. It’s ... is it blind?”

She turned its head, seeing the white eyes with no pupils and looked up at the mage, hoping that had the answers.

“They are elves. Or, rather, they were.” The mage stood far away from the dead creature. “They were Snow Elves, enslaved and corrupted by the Dwemer. I didn’t think there’d be any here. We’re so far south of the normal Dwemer strongholds.”

“They are blind, but they make up for that with incredible senses of hearing and smell. I’m going to scout ahead. We need to know how many more of them there are.” Tilly looked at Revna and then Itagaki for approval. Revna looked at Itagaki and then back at Tilly, nodding. “Don’t make a sound above a whisper and, if you see another one of these, don’t even whisper.”

She disappeared around the corner of the door, The Sisters in hand.

Revna took up the position that Tilly had left, looking around the door frame, searching for any movement. The dark elf had literally disappeared now. There was no sight of her and Revna couldn’t help but admire the skill in stealth that Tilly had. If she had tried it, even with her innate skills as a Khajiit, she would not be able to compare with Tilly.

“This is becoming much more complicated the further we go on.” The Redguard was examining the Falmer, now. “Metal creatures behind us, these things in front of us. We could use more warriors.”

“Aye. We do appear to be outnumbered down here.” Revna saw Öenthir standing far away from the creature. “Are you alright?”

“Yes!” She answered too fast, a tight pitch to her voice. “I’ve just read a lot about the Falmer and all of it was horrible. So much pain and suffering and then what they became. It’s profane.”

“We’ll be fine.” Revna tried to give the mage a comforting smile, but she shared her worries. Looking around the door, she had seen a lot of movement in room ahead.

It was strange, but she felt like she would rather be fighting the skeletons, ghosts and trolls that they had encountered in Hew’s Bane. The spirit of the Ayleid mage, Gwinilden, had been right. These things were far worse. The metal Dwemer constructs were one thing, her Argonian hammer could handle some of them, but swarms of them? And these Falmer, twisted mockeries of elves, with their blindness and their strange, colourless skins, they made her gut lurch.

Tilly returning came as a surprise. So quiet and quick, the dark elf was almost within touching distance before Revna caught sight of her. She looked worried and shook her hands, covered in the black blood that Revna had seen gushing from the Falmer.

Tilly rounded the corner and collapsed against the wall, breathing heavy. She was still not completely healed.

“Anyone got any water? Mine’s all gone.” The dark elf caught the water skin that Revna tossed to her and took a deep gulp from it, then poured some on her hands, washing away the blood before tossing it back.

“What did you see?” Itagaki, ever pragmatic, put aside her problems with Tilly. For now. “What can we expect in there?”

“There’s a door, like this one, at the other end of the room.” She hung her head, still trying to breathe as normal as she could. “But there’s about thirty Falmer between us and that door. There’s an easy but open path on the right of the room, or a quicker, more difficult path to the left.”

“You had blood on your hands?” The mage, despite her feelings against Tilly, stepped towards her, ready to use her healing spell.

“Not mine.” Tilly winked and grinned. “I killed a few. When they’re found, it might keep the others occupied for a while. Even with that, I can’t see us getting through them all without getting hit. There’s too many of them.”

“I might have an idea about that.” Revna had been thinking. She wasn’t the brightest among the companions, but she was still a warrior with a fine tactical mind. Not to the same level as Itagaki, but she wasn’t a slouch. “What if we used the things we have at hand?”

“What do you propose?” The Redguard considered, interested in anything they could do.

“‘The enemy of my enemy’?” Revna pointed back towards the door, on the other side of the pool, holding back the spider constructs and saw comprehension dawn on Itagaki’s face. It took a little longer for the others to work it out. “Maybe we don’t have to do all the fighting.”

iii. Tilly.

It was a crazy plan. She knew it, Itagaki and Öenthir knew it. Even Revna, who had proposed it, knew that the plan was bizarre, but it was the only plan they had. Trying to sneak past the Falmer was beyond risky and, even with the fighting skills of the Redguard and the Khajiit, thirty opponents, or more, was impossible odds.

The Falmer had discovered their dead compatriots and there was activity within the room. It was only a matter of time before they sensed the open door and then there would be trouble. So, now, here she was, wet, in her underclothes, on the other side of the pool, about to open a door with dozens of those metal spiders waiting to do Vivec know’s what to her.

It was a crazy plan!

They didn’t even know if the spiders would, or could, follow her through the pool. They had found a slipway, on the other side of the pool that the metal creatures could climb up if they did follow her and, once out of the pool, she had to ‘introduce’ the spiders and the Falmer to each other.

She hated to think it, but she was loving the excitement of it all. She was feeling the same kind of thrill she got when performing her duties for her calling. It was something she could never describe in an adequate fashion, like sliding down a knife edge without getting cut. That balance between life and death, teetering one way or the other as they enacted each stage of the plan.

She put her ear against the door and listened. The spiders seemed to have returned to their previous state, with no discernible sounds of movement from within. Taking two deep breaths, trying to calm her mind, she removed the Gem of Unison from a pouch tied to her wrist and held it to the slight indentation on the door.

There was an audible ‘click’ and the door began to swing open and she prepared to run for her life but, when she glanced around the door, she found the spiders were, once again, dormant, lined back against the walls as they had before.

She didn’t relax, but she did stand with her hands on her hips wondering what to do. They had begun moving, before, when Revna had brushed one with her foot. Shrugging, she took a leaf out of the Khajiit’s book and threw her foot out towards the nearest spider. As soon as her foot connected, a sharp, needle-like leg shot up towards it. That got them going.

As one, the spiders turned towards her and, even with no ‘eyes’, that she could see, appeared to be staring at her. Then they all began to move towards her, legs clicking against the metal floor.

She ran. Racing like a madwoman towards the edge of the pool, she almost dropped the Gem of Unison and, reaching the pool, she replaced it into the pouch at her wrist with care. The spiders were fast on those little legs and they weren’t far behind her, but she couldn’t jump yet. She had to make sure that they would follow her into the water.

“Come on you little snappy bastards.” She didn’t know if taunting them would help, but she did it anyway. “See how many of you can get their claws into this sweet body of mine. Come on!”

The nearest spider scrunched down on its legs and Tilly wondered what it was up to. She soon found out as it launched itself upwards towards her face. She managed to duck out of the way and caught a glimpse of it landing in the water behind her. It still kept moving. That was the good thing.

The bad thing was she was almost surrounded by the spiders. Turning, she threw herself into the water, arresting her dive so that she surfaced faster. She now knew that the spiders weren’t affected by the water, but she couldn’t be sure they couldn’t ‘swim’ and she didn’t fancy being close to them as the pack of spiders, one-by-one began to follow her into the pool.

She swam as fast as she could and, between breaths, she could see the spiders scuttling along below her on the bed of the pool. The little buggers were fast! Faster than her. At this rate, they would reach the other side before her.

Redoubling her efforts, she tried to swim faster, but now a quick glance showed that there was more trouble ahead. The Falmer had discovered the open door. Luckily, she had told the others to hide within the room, behind a rocky outcrop she had found on her scouting trip. Nevertheless, there were now two Falmer between her and the others and the spiders had started to leave the pool.

She praised Sithis when the Falmer turned at the noises that the spiders were making with their metal legs on the metal floor and soon the spiders and the Falmer had engaged in battle. Razor-like claws against whatever the Falmer swords and spears were.

She paused before pulling herself out of the pool, gauging the battle that was occurring. When she thought both sides had become occupied enough, she jumped out and began to run for the door before more Falmer appeared. This time she was unlucky.

Another Falmer now stood in the frame of the doorway, a spear in its hand, turning its head to locate the sounds of fighting. Tilly wasn’t about to let him, it, get in her way. She sprinted towards it and punched it square in the face, sending it crashing to the ground, before it could react. Grabbing its spear, she brought it down and pinned it to the ground before pulling the spear out, spotting some more Falmer about twenty feet away and throwing the spear at them with a high-pitched scream.

The spear missed all of them. She had never thrown one before. It had the right effect, though, as all the Falmer now turned towards the door, as spiders began turning the corner, clicking their way into the room. Veering aside, Tilly dived over some rocks, rolling to her feet and ran to the hiding place of the others as the Falmer and spiders closed in on each other.

“So, how’s your day been?” She collapsed beside Revna, breathing heavy.

iv. Öenthir.

She tried not to look at the skirmish going on between the Falmer and the spiders, but she did notice the unnatural quietness of it. All that she could hear were the clicking of the spider legs and the clash of spear and sword against metal. The Falmer made no noise. No grunts, no shouts, nothing. She didn’t think the spiders were capable of making noise. It was eerie.

Right now, she had to focus on the perilous path to the other side of the room. The dark elf had been right, this path, on the left, was difficult, littered with stone, large boulders, gaps and cliffs. They had already navigated one steep climb, Revna giving each of them lifts with her powerful arms before jumping and scrambling after them.

The next tricky part was a gap between two rocks that seemed like a chasm to her. She had never been the most active of wood elves, preferring to stay at home reading rather than running and climbing trees like her sister, Ferinwé and, at this moment, she regretted that and envied her sister’s exuberance.

“I can’t jump that.” She saw the look that Revna gave her. “It’s not that I’m scared. I am. But I know that I simply won’t make it.”

“We will jump first.” Itagaki pointed to herself and the dark elf. “When you jump, we will catch you.”

“I’m not being dramatic, Itagaki!” At times of stress, she found that she soon reverted to her learned haughty nature and she didn’t mean to snap at the Redguard. “I know how far I can jump and I won’t reach!”

“Maybe our resident giant Khajiit can throw you?” The dark elf wasn’t joking, either.

Öenthir didn’t like the idea, but what other option was there? She looked up at Revna, who made a noncommittal shrug. Öenthir didn’t know if that meant she could or couldn’t do it. She took one last look at the gap, steeled herself, and nodded.

The dark elf was the first to jump, taking a short run up and launching herself across the gap, her noble’s coat flapping around her legs. Itagaki followed, making the jump with ease and landing on the other side. Revna then threw their packs across, her hammer and Öenthir’s staff.

“There won’t be a lot of dignity with this, you know.” The Khajiit stood waiting for Öenthir to show she was ready.

“I know.” Her shoulders slumped, but she stood beside the gap ready for the throw.

Revna grabbed her then, by the waist of her leather breeches and by the collar of both her blouse and waistcoat. The Khajiit lifted her once, to gauge her weight, relaxed again and then lifted her full weight, tossing her flying towards her other companions.

She landed in their arms and they fell backwards to soften the shock of the landing. Now it was Revna’s turn. She took a few steps back before running and jumping the gap. Mid-flight, an arrow whistled by her ear, causing her to misjudge where she was landing.

Almost failing to reach the other side of the gap, she began falling backwards, arms windmilling in desperation to regain her balance before the dark elf pounced to her, grabbing her by the collar of the ‘Scorpion Black’ armour and dragging her to safety.

“That was embarrassing!” The dark elf laughed, despite more arrows flying at them now, some Falmer having heard their efforts. “You’re a cat, for Khenarthi’s sake!”

“I’m not a cat! I’m a Khajiit raised as a Nord.” It was another time that Revna’s fur spared her blushes. “Nord’s do not jump things, they go through them. Little elf.”

“If you two are finished joking, we must move. Now.” The Redguard pointed to the path on the other side of the room. “We have made too much noise, some Falmer are moving to cut us off.”

Indeed, a group of five Falmer had disengaged from the fighting with the spiders and were loping up the easier path, firing occasional arrows in their direction. Quite how they could target the companions, Öenthir didn’t know, but they were.

The door they were trying to reach was not much further now, but the Falmer were moving fast. They had to race, navigating through the boulder strewn path, towards the double doors with the Falmer gaining ground every second.

Reaching the doors, Itagaki immediately held out the glowing Gem of Unison, which she had retrieved from the dark elf, and the doors began opening. Far too slow. Arrows pinged from the metal of the doors as they opened and the Falmer neared them.

Revna turned towards the Falmer, teeth bared, hammer lifted in readiness, ready to gain them time if they needed it, but an arrow struck her, thudding into the armour of her chest. The blow brought the big Khajiit to her knees.

But not for long. She pushed herself back to her feet, grabbing the arrow and ripping it from her chest, throwing it down to the floor, with a growl. Öenthir saw furious savagery in Revna’s eyes. The Khajiit hefted her hammer and was about to launch herself at the Falmer, not seeming to care that the distorted elves outnumbered her.

“Through the doors, everyone!” Itagaki grabbed Öenthir and pushed her towards the doors.

Revna was likewise grabbed, by the dark elf. At first the Khajiit would not move, her eyes filled with murderous intention, but, with help from Itagaki, managed to get Revna through the door. Then, they both took a side of the doors and pushed them closed. Arrows still whistling at them through the closing gap. The doors soon closed and locked with a click.

Öenthir immediately moved towards Revna, preparing her healing spell.

“You’d better get that armour off. Where did the arrow hit?” She examined the armour’s chest piece as Itagaki and the dark elf began unfastening the straps for the Khajiit.

“What do you mean ‘Where did the arrow hit’? There’s a bloody great hole where it hit.” Revna didn’t seem to be in much pain, but she wasn’t the type to show it, anyway, so that didn’t mean much. She was still angry, though, and it was obvious the lure of battle had almost completely overwhelmed her good senses.

“No. There isn’t.” Öenthir ran her hand over the entire chest piece as the others removed it. It was as pristine as the day Revna had first put it on.

Öenthir grabbed Revna’s undershirt and lifted it up, ignoring the Khajiit’s embarrassed protests. There, on her friend’s chest, she found a wound. Not as big as it should have been, though, only a small puncture that she soon healed.

She dropped Revna’s undershirt and spun around to find the arrows that had flown through the doorway, picking up several and examining them close.

They were all barbed bodkin heads, made to pierce even plate armour and the barbs ensured that more damage would occur if the arrows were pulled out of bodies without care. Revna’s armour, Scorpion Black’s armour, became more interesting all the time.


	20. Chapter 20

20

i. Revna.

This room was empty, save for the four of them. There were no out of place rock formations, no crates or boxes. Only the ubiquitous rattling pipes, the doors they had entered through and a larger set of doors opposite.

She touched the place on her armour that the arrow had hit, absentminded. It was, indeed, flawless once again, somehow repairing itself having, most likely, saved her life. The barbs on the arrow heads would have torn her flesh to pieces. The bodkin would have pierced deep into her chest. If not for this ancient armour that she had hated wearing from the start. Her own armour, good, strong Nord armour, would have been like paper against those arrows.

Now they gathered before the next set of doors, all of them looking at each other, wary of what they were to see beyond the them.

“I suppose we should get it over with?” Tilly, stood beside her, was fiddling with the pommel of one of her daggers. Nervous, fidgety. “I mean, it couldn’t possibly be worse. Right?”

“You had to say it, didn’t you?” She looked down at Tilly, a look of confusion crossing the dark elf’s face. “Now you’ve said it, of course it’s going to be worse. It’s like calling the Prince of Madness’ name. Now it has to be worse.”

“It will be worse if it is worse. Not because it has been said.” Itagaki was holding the Gem of Unison in her hands, turning it over and over with her fingers. She sounded calm, as she usually did, but even she seemed nervous.

“Let’s do it then.” Öenthir put her hand over Itagaki’s, stopping her from fidgeting with the gem. “Together.”

Once more, Itagaki held the gem towards the doors before them and the familiar clicks and whirrs and escaping steam came from the doors. Painstaking and slow, they began to open.

Revna, as she was always ready to do, stepped forward, holding her hammer at the ready. She looked through the widening gap of the doors and could already see that the next room was big and not empty. There was movement.

When the doors had opened to their fullest, she could see what had been moving. A metal construct, much like the first one they had seen in the room far back at the beginning of the Dwemer structure. Trundling around on some kind of ball instead of legs, a head that imitated a humanoid face, but with a crest of metal that swept backwards. Its arms did not end in ‘hands’ like the other, but in something that resembled a crossbow on one arm and a tube, or nozzle on the other.

Revna took no chances. She launched herself forward, swinging her hammer in an overhead arc and bringing it slamming down onto the metal creatures head with a resounding clang. It didn’t fall. Its head listed to the side, the crest on its head dented almost double, but the thing still moved, rolling to the side and bringing the crossbow arm to bear on her.

There was a twang as the crossbow fired, flying up past Revna’s face and taking a chunk from the tip of her ear. Now the others joined in. Itagaki dancing around the creature, slamming her hammers against its body. Tilly struck a dagger into the gaps of the ball it moved on.

Even without the use of the ball it still managed to stay upright, twisting the top half of its body independent of the bottom half. It brought its other arm around, pointing the nozzle at Itagaki’s face, a drip of some kind of liquid falling from the tip.

“Duck!” Tilly couldn’t reach Itagaki, but the Redguard heard and reacted. A little too slow.

There was a spark in the end of the nozzle and the a great gout of flame shot out from it, sending fire flying for about twenty feet from the construct. Itagaki had only begun to duck out of the way, but caught a glancing blow from the flames, turning away and screaming, holding her hands to her face, one side of her hair melted to frizzy ball-like strands. If it had been anyone else, their entire head would have been burnt to a crisp.

Revna couldn’t take any time to find concern for her friend, so she allowed her fury loose. The anger that always seemed to bubble beneath the surface. Superficial, hidden by her humour, by her kindness, by her naivety. She let the mask fall, revealing the intense anger she kept in check all the time. Finally free.

Her hammer swung, her teeth baring, her eyes widening, her mouth emitting a terrifying howl. She hit the construct, almost toppling it and then again and again. Hammer blows falling upon it like rocks in a landslide. She finally knocked it down, but she didn’t stop. She kept swinging, kept dropping heavy blows upon the metal creature until there was nothing left but separated, bent and useless junk, liquid, oil from the flame throwing arm, pooling on the floor like blood and still she rained blows upon it.

It was Tilly that finally stopped her, standing before her, arms raised, face full of concern. She almost tossed the dark elf aside. Almost hit her. But she managed to pull herself back. Managed to catch herself and, when the mists of her fury began to lift, she dropped her hammer and turned towards Itagaki.

She reached the Redguard and fell to her knees beside her friend. Öenthir was cradling Itagaki’s head in her lap, her hand glowing with the power of her healing spell.

The injury could have been much worse. As it was, even with Öenthir’s magicks, the Redguard was going to have a scar for life. A length of skin, about an inch wide and around three or four inches long, from the corner of her chin, up past her mouth and ending at the side of her eye, had melted and pitted. With Öenthir’s greater control of her spells, it had already began to settle. It wouldn’t ooze or rot. But she would never look the same.

Revna reached her hand out behind her, to where she knew Tilly would be, and felt the dark elf’s hand clasp hers. She squeezed the hand and pulled Tilly forwards and, when the dark elf knelt beside Itagaki, they could all see the shock in the dark elf’s face.

ii. Öenthir.

“Take the gem. Finish this.” Itagaki held Öenthir’s hand and placed the Gem of Unison in her palm. She looked up at Tilly, then. “I will be fine. I just need a moment.”

Tilly took Itagaki’s head from Öenthir’s lap and cradled her in her own, smoothing the Redguard’s hair with gentle strokes.

She felt Revna’s hand on her shoulder and, rising, she looked into the Khajiit’s determined eyes. The anger had diminished, a slight, from her face, but her jaw was set firm. She knew she had lost control and that she needed to be clear headed. So did Öenthir.

Revna led the way, then, walking slow towards the other end of the room where Öenthir could see a partition wall. Not quite reaching the ceiling of the room, or both sides. Separating a section of the room from the rest.

To the left, before the partition, Öenthir caught sight of something and pulled Revna over to investigate.

“What is it?” Revna only glanced at what Öenthir was examining, keeping her eyes moving, watching for any more movement.

“It’s another lifting platform.” She searched around and found a lever, much like the one in the first building of the complex. This time set into the platform itself. “We don’t have to go back the way we came. I’m not sure where it will go, though.”

“If we don’t have to trek for miles through these corridors, that’s a good thing.” Revna jerked her head towards the partition. “Let’s get this done. I tire of this place.”

They approached the partition slow and with care. The silence of the room was weighing heavy upon her now, giving the place a sense of unease. They couldn’t even hear the pipes, with their ever hissing steam. No clanks or whirs from gears. Nothing.

Revna placed her back against the partition and glanced around the corner.

“Shor’s blood!” The Khajiit pulled back, leaning heavy against the partition. “That’s a big one!”

Öenthir needed to see. Edging around Revna, she took her own turn to look around the corner of the wall and almost gasped. It was another Dwemer construct, but this one must have been almost ten feet high. It looked humanoid, in a vague way, with arms and legs, a head that resembled a bearded mer of some kind and a big barrel of a chest. It stood, motionless before an altar that held a crown much like the one the Ayleid skeleton of Gwinilden had worn, but more angular and brutal in its construction.

“How are we going to beat that?” She pulled away from the corner and leant against the partition next to Revna.

“Maybe we don’t have to fight it?” Revna looked around the corner again, trying to see more of the area. “The other one just wanted us to return the gem. Right?”

It was worth a try. If they didn’t have to fight the giant construct, they could collect the other two and leave by the lifting platform. She looked at the gem in her hand. All this trouble for such an inconspicuous thing. People dying because three mages had thought to end a war by magick. Such fools!

She took a deep breath, closing her hand around the gem, gripping her staff in the other hand, and, in slow, careful steps, walked around the edge of the partition. Revna followed, her hammer ready if battle became required.

She held the gem up in front her as she walked to the front of the construct and the altar. The construct immediately sensed their presence, raising to its full height with a hiss of steam and the sound of pistons and turning gears.

“We return the Gem of Unison to its rightful owner, Onzngknd of the Dwemer.” She sounded far more confident than she felt. “We only wish to break the curse and leave. There is no need for violence.”

The huge construct bent its head towards her, making her feel even smaller than she actually was. She could feel Revna readying herself to attack beside her. Then a noise appeared to emit from the construct. Like a million different musical notes, minute, short notes, mere fragments of a second in length, played on some strange set of bells, or xylophone. It took her a moment before she realised it was making words from the sounds.

“Intruders detected. Analysing.” The head appeared to look at Revna, its head moving up and down. “Khajiit. Female. Elevated vascular system, heart rate, endorphins. Subject prepared to engage in conflict.”

The construct swivelled the entire top half of its body towards Revna, raising an arm that ended in something that looked like a double-headed hammer.

“Wait!” Öenthir stepped in front of Revna, fast, holding the Gem of Unison higher. “Read me! Umm ... analyse! Analyse me.”

The construct lowered its hammer arm and the head once again appeared to examine her, head moving up and down.

“Mer. Sub-species. Female.” The head stopped moving up and down and seemed to focus on Öenthir’s hand. “Gem of Unison detected. Return the Gem of Unison! Return the Gem of Unison!”

“That’s what I said.” She held the gem within sight of the construct’s head and edged around, moving closer to the Dwemer crown. “We want to return the Gem of Unison.”

The construct turned the top half of its body, following Öenthir’s movement towards the crown. She reached the altar and laid her staff against it as she tried to place the gem into the noticeable space for it in the crown. Soon, it clicked into place. The construct immediately straightened up and then lowered itself back into the position it had first held.

“Gem of Unison has been returned.” The inhuman ‘voice’ made from thousands of musical notes, seemed to become less metallic. “You must leave Onzngknd. You have ten minutes in which to comply.”

“Is that it?” Revna almost seemed disappointed, although how she expected to fight a construct that size, Öenthir had no idea.

“That’s it. Let’s get the others and get out of this place!” She didn’t waste any time, immediately turning and running back towards Itagaki and Tilly.

The Redguard had already forced Tilly to help her up and to move towards Öenthir and Revna, so they met half way.

“You have done it, my friends.” Itagaki’s voice still strong, but strained, called out. “We felt the change through the binding. Now all we must do is get past the Falmer, the spiders and miles of corridors.”

Öenthir could tell that Itagaki was trying to use humour to lessen their concern. Nevertheless, she was happy to let the Redguard and the dark elf know that they need not retrace their steps, showing them the lifting platform. Revna helped Tilly get Itagaki on to the platform.

“My staff!” Öenthir couldn’t believe that she had forgotten it. She only hoped that the construct didn’t analyse her as an intruder again. “I’ll be right back.”

She jumped from the platform and ran towards the partition when she found herself stopped dead in her tracks by the sound of an explosion. Without thinking, after the initial shock wore off, she ran around the partition.

Someone, or something, appeared to have destroyed the giant construct, pieces laying all across the floor, steam rising from the constructs torso. That was not the most shocking thing, though.

There, beside the altar, lifting the crown that held the Gem of Unison was a figure. A familiar figure. Tall, dressed in mage’s robes. He turned as she ran around the corner and Öenthir recognised him straight away.

“Loremaster Dukhat?”

iii. Tilly.

She, Itagaki and Revna had all heard the explosion and seen that clueless Bosmer running around the partition wall. She never understood the kind of people that ran towards loud noises. Be it the sounds of cheering, or battle or, in this case, something booming like the biggest thunderstorm she’d ever heard. People always ran towards them.

Sighing, Tilly saw that the wood elf was not the only one running towards the sound. Revna had jumped from the platform straight away, ridiculous Argonian hammer in hand, and Itagaki, despite being in pain was also struggling to stand and head that way. It was all she could do to give Itagaki a shoulder to lean on as they moved to follow their friends.

Rounding the edge of the partition wall, they found themselves confronted by a strange sight. What appeared to be the remains of a metal thing, but one that had been much larger than the others, scattered on the floor. Her friends appeared to be standing there, like idiots, and some tall man in mage’s robes appeared to be fiddling with a crown of some kind.

“Who’s the old geezer?” Her friends didn’t move, or reply, but the old mage turned and saw her and Itagaki.

“Ah. And now the final two. Stand still.” The mage waved a hand in their direction, almost as an afterthought.

She couldn’t move. She could feel her legs trying to step forward, but something invisible seemed to be holding her in place. Neither her arms or her head could move either. Her eyes were still able to turn and she could see Itagaki struggling to move also.

The mage finally finished what he was doing with the crown, pulling, what Tilly surmised was the Gem of Unison, from it and then tossing the crown aside. He tossed the gem once and then secreted it away within his robes before moving to stand before Öenthir.

“You were supposed to have left.” The man, a Breton by the looks of things, clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at Öenthir. Imperious. Judging. “You never were one to do as expected.”

“I left my staff.” The little Bosmer’s voice sounded strained.

“Your staff? You have a staff now?” The Breton mage turned, seeing Öenthir’s staff leant against the altar. He strode over and lifted it, giving it a cursory examination. “Not enchanted, but very prettily carved. You think you’re ready for a staff, eh? Always with delusions of grandeur, child.”

“Why are you doing this?” Tilly couldn’t see Öenthir’s face, but she sounded as if she was holding back tears. “The Gems of Unison are too powerful to be used. That’s why the ancient mages hid them.”

“These gems will help put an end to the war, girl. Isn’t that a good thing?” The Breton slipped Öenthir’s staff into her hand and smiled kindly at her. “My allies and I can stop the fighting, bring final, lasting peace to Tamriel.”

“Not with those gems.” Itagaki almost grunted with the effort of trying to move. “They are cursed and the power they hold is too great for mortal hands.”

“Then we will becomes gods, if we must, but we will stop the war.” The Breton turned away and began weaving his hands in the air. Soon, it was as if a rip in the air occurred showing a bright window towards another place. A portal.

“You know we have the other gem, why not take that, too?” Revna hissed at the man.

“Ah. The Khajiit speaks. The fabled ‘Scorpion Black’ reborn. You have a reputation, you know.” The Breton mage turned from the portal and tapped Revna’s armour. “There is the story of Scorpion Black and the reality. The reality is that this armour saved his life many times, but failed him when he needed it the most. Do not make the same mistake, eh?”

“Answer her question!” Öenthir’s voice was bitter and angry. “Why not take the last gem now?”

“We aren’t monsters, girl!” He looked hurt that Öenthir would think so. “A child’s life is in the balance! No. You will complete your task and we will take the gem once you have broken the curse. No, we will allow you to complete your journey.”

“You sent people after us. They tried to kill us. To kill me.” Öenthir’s voice was breaking, now.

“You were never meant to be part of this, child. If only you hadn’t cast that protection spell.” The Breton sighed. “Those sell-swords were to watch you, only. I would have dealt with them myself if your friends had not killed them. We do not tolerate unnecessary death.”

“We will stop you!” Itagaki snarled at the man. “Those gems are not for this world. We will find you and your ‘allies’ and we will stop this madness.”

“No. You won’t.” The Breton turned away and stepped towards his shimmering portal. “The Three Banners War will end. There will be peace and the Three Heads of the Dragon will rule. Nothing any of you can do will stop that.”

Walking into the light of the portal, the Breton mage wavered and disappeared. Seconds later all four of them found that they could move once more and Öenthir collapsed in tears, gripping her staff to her chest.

Tilly fidgeted with the pommel of “Grave’s Friend”, her enchanted dagger that killed with intense pain, knowing that, one day, she would use it on that mage and all his ‘allies’.

iv. Itagaki.

The pain had subsided much since Öenthir had used her magick upon her, but there was still a throb and a strange tingling that told her that had suffered a terrible injury. She hesitated, but touched the side of her face that now held a melted, pitted scar. She wasn’t one for vanity, but this injury did bother her.

Injuries, for a warrior, were always expected. She had several scars that she had collected over the years, not least of which that scar. The one she gained in failure. This one, though, was different to her. She didn’t understand why. Her looks had never interested her before, although she was not completely unaware of her beauty. Or, at least, the beauty she used to have.

After leaving the tomb of Onzngknd, they had managed to retrace their steps overland that they had made underground, finding the first building and their horses faster than expected. They had soon set off back towards the Argonian village of the Red Spine tribe.

Over the next few nights, Öenthir had reapplied her healing spell at night, before they slept, and in the morning after waking, but, apart from that, had remained withdrawn and almost silent the whole time. She had not taken the betrayal by her mentor well. Itagaki imagined it must feel almost as devastating as if a parent had betrayed her and she wished there was something she could do or say that would ease her torment.

As for the other two, Revna had taken to removing the Scorpion Black armour, at night, and staring at it. The words of the Breton mage must have struck a chord in the Khajiit. If it had been Itagaki, herself, that had received the armour and the warning, she would be as concerned as Revna. So far, that armour had proven durable to the extreme, saving Revna from blows that could have, likely would have, killed her or, at the very least, injured her to a point she may never have recovered. But, what if the armour failed, as Dukhat reported it had with its original owner, Scorpion Black? Was it too much of a risk to wear? Or too much of a risk not to?

Tilly was the one that had acted pretty much as normal, except she rarely moved far from Itagaki’s side. She wasn’t trying to repair their fledgling relationship, which Itagaki appreciated, but neither was she avoiding her, as she had been. Somehow, Itagaki’s injury had finally made something click in Tilly’s mind. She was acting more empathic than anyone could have imagined, least of all the dark elf herself. Of course, with everything going on, her playful antagonistic friendship with Revna had taken a hit, but that was still there. If a little subdued.

Upon reentering the Red Spine village, the healers that had cared for Tilly so well immediately began to make a fuss over her. They gave her a salve for her injury that they swore would alleviate some of the scarring, but even they said it would never be completely healed.

It was satisfying being back in the Argonian village. Seeing the children that she had taught the spear dance to. Talking to those that had made them feel so welcome before (even if she, herself, had made that welcome a little difficult). Returning to the huts that they had slept in for those two weeks not so long ago. This time, they could not stay, however.

“Absolutely not! We can afford a couple of days for you to rest.” At least returning to the Red Spine village had broken Öenthir from her despair.

As soon as they had reentered the village, the Sap Speaker had taken the Bosmer aside. It was as if he knew something was wrong. They had spent over an hour together, beneath the boughs of the Hist tree, and, when Öenthir returned to them, she seemed to have a renewed vigour to her.

“I am perfectly fine.” She hand-waved away Öenthir’s concern. “Do you think I have never been injured before? I still have some pain, but I am not tired, I am not ill and I am able to travel. No, we must move on and finish this.”

“I’m with Itagaki on this one.” Revna paused between wolfing down a bowl of the stew she had gained a taste for. “Injuries are no reason to stop doing anything. She can walk, she can fight. That’s all a warrior needs.”

“Bollocks!” Of course Tilly had to add her two copper’s worth to the debate. “You all made me rest, now it’s time to make her rest. Why risk it? We have plenty of time left.”

“You all seem to be under the impression that this is a discussion. It is not!” She stood up too fast and her head swam. She didn’t show it, though. “I am leaving to finish this in the morning. You may all stay here, but if I have to ride all the way to Skyrim alone, I will!”

She sat back down after making her point and they all continued eating in silence for a few minutes. But silence, to Tilly, was only something that required filling.

“So, Khajiiti Nord, what can we expect in this next tomb?” Tilly circled her finger inside her bowl collecting every last drop from within. “Mammoths? Horkers? Maybe some of those big blonde Nord men you like?”

“We will find the dead.” Revna appeared reticent in how she spoke, if not in what she said.

“Isn’t that what you normally find in a tomb? Dead people?” Whatever the Sap Speaker had said to the Bosmer, it had returned her sense of humour, that was certain.

“In normal tombs, yes.” The Khajiit roved her eyes between them. “In Skyrim, the dead people forget to stop moving. Draugr.”

“What in Oblivion is ‘draw-gur’?” Tilly dropped her bowl on the table and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“The place we will be going, Deep Frost Barrow. I’ve never been in, but many of the other children did. Some never came back.” It was possible she didn’t realise it, but Revna moved a hand to her great sword, Jotnbann. “I don’t know if Skyrim is cursed or it’s something to do with how the dead are prepared, but they soon begin walking again. Still want to fight. Some Draugr have even left barrows to wander the nearby countryside.”

“So, like those skeletons we fought?” Tilly leaned on the table now, more interested than she would like others to believe.

“Those skeletons were mindless puppets. Draugr still retain the skills they had in life. Warriors, mages, Dragonborn and their shouts.” Revna was deadly serious. “They will not be as easily felled as those skeletons.”

The conversation fell silent after that and they soon all decided to retire for the night. It took a while, but soon tiredness overcame the pain and Itagaki fell asleep. She did not dream of Draugr, nor of Tilly, or her injury, or of any of the things they had experienced.

But she did dream.


	21. Chapter 21

21

i. Itagaki’s dream.

This was all as it had been, all as she remembered. Every grain of sand. Every drop of blood. The heat of the day and the cries of the dying. It had burned into her memory, seared into it and she would never forget this day.

Her liege lord, her chief, was dead. His head a foot away from his prone body, staring at her with empty eyes. Nineteen of her brothers and sisters, on each side of her, also lay in the scorching sunlight. Headless. Dead. And she, with blood drying from the cut above her eye, knelt in the sand, hands tied behind her, stared with undiluted fury at the man before her.

He held her sword, the sword her father had forged for her, with the blood of her tribal compatriots still dripping from the blade, examining it.

“A strange sword. Too thin. Too light. But it removes heads as well as a real sword.” He used the tip of the sword to lift her chin. “To think you killed three of my best warriors with this toy.”

“It would have tasted your blood if I had not been surrounded.” Her throat was dry from the day’s fighting, yet she was still able to growl her hatred at this man.

“My offer remains the same.” He was the chief of a great tribe. A man forcing other tribes under his control, but her tribe had defied him. “Return to your people. Tell them to kneel before me, or I will take the heads of every man, woman and child and I shall make you watch before you die.”

She looked at the head of her chief once more. She had given her life in service of that man, respected him. Loved him, even. He had honour, but where had honour got him now? Headless. His army crushed. And now his people threatened with the same fate. Her people.

Something caught her eye. Something that wasn’t how it should be. She couldn’t describe it. Couldn’t see it, but something was there. Something not right.

“What say you?” Her mind returned to the memory. Playing out as it always played.

She had tortured herself with this decision for so long. It was her shame. She should have refused and died with honour, as her fellow warriors had, but she had thought of her people. Of her ageing father. She thought of the children.

The rival chief removed her sword from beneath her chin and squatted before her, looking deep into her eyes. He did not look like an evil man. He thought uniting the tribes, by diplomacy or war, was the best for them all, he had said as much. Strength in unity.

Her people had refused, although some had counselled hearing this chief out, and they had sealed their own fate. Join the united tribes, or have their tribe wiped from the face of Nirn. She couldn’t countenance losing her friends or family. Little was she to know that in saving them, she would lose them.

“I will tell them if I have your word they will not be harmed.” She dipped her head, incapable of hiding her shame.

“You have it. But a payment must be made for your defiance and the warriors you killed.” Without any warning he slid her own blade into her. It entered her side, exiting through her back and was then removed. The chief wiped the blade and returned it to its scabbard before sliding it and the companion sword into her sash. “If you ride fast, you should reach your healers before you die. We are even, now. Get her a horse!”

She still felt pain from that injury, to this day. The memory of her own sword slicing into her body would never go away, nor the pain of betraying her liege lord or her people. It was this moment, this event, that had formed her pact. To find redemption, even forgiveness, for this act.

“You shame yourself, Itagaki No Sha-Aram!” This was wrong. This did not happen. The decapitated head of the man she had followed as chief was speaking to her! “You shame your family. You shame your tribe. There will be no forgiveness for this.”

Itagaki looked around. She was no longer feeling the pain from the hole in her side. The victorious chief had stopped as he had been walking away. The warriors that had surrounded her were not moving, nor were the carrion birds in the sky. Everything had stopped except her and the head of her former chief.

And still something nagged at her subconscious. Something familiar, or, at least, something that felt as if she had heard of in some other time, some other place.

“I shame no-one! I saved the lives of my people!” Her hand slipped to her side. Even the bleeding had paused. “He was true to his word. My people live on. They are safe and if shame must be borne by anyone, it should be mine alone!”

“They live under the yoke of others! They kneel to a false chief. How is this not shameful?” The face of her former chief curled in spite. “They are nothing, now, because of you!”

“They are alive!” Her fist pounded into the sand. The strange feeling washed over her again. The ‘something’ was observing her. How she knew knew this was beyond her understanding, but she knew it. And then she remembered. Remembered other discussions of other dreams. “Who are you?”

“I am your chief!” Behind the head of the chief, his body began to rise. A sword, that was not there before, was in its hands.

“No. No, you are not.” She grew in confidence. Sure of herself that she knew what was happening. “You are an interloper. An invader in my dream. You are not my chief, this is not what happened. Who are you?”

The “chief’s” body raised the sword above its head, preparing to cave in Itagaki’s skull, but she was also prepared. She pulled the companion sword from its scabbard, turned it around and plunged it deep within her stomach, slicing from one side to the other, twisting it and ripping upwards. She watched, as if from some far away place, as her intestines tumbled from her.

“This is my dream. My mind! My body!” She felt no pain. She felt light. Relieved. At peace. “I choose how I die and I choose how I live. I will not feel shame for saving my people!”

She fell forward, the companion sword dropping to the sand beside her. She felt the edges of her vision cloud and lose focus and, for the final seconds, she saw the face of her ‘chief’. It held a look of intrigued curiosity.

She had defeated it.

ii. Öenthir.

Supposed to be almost spring in Skyrim, the snowstorm had other ideas and Winterhold hunkered down to try and outlast it. It had been two weeks, now, since they had left the confines of Onzngknd’s tomb. Over a week to find a suitable wayshrine to transport from and days stuck in Skyrim’s capital city while the storm did its best to ravage any hope of continuing their task.

Öenthir pulled her thick woollen cloak tighter around her, the fur hood almost completely covering her face as she tracked her way back through the empty streets to the Broken Axe inn where they had been staying. It had been through necessity that she had left the confines of the inn to find the local apothecary to find ingredients for the Argonian salve for Itagaki’s wound, now almost healed. The scar would remain, but, thanks to the salve, was less severe than it would have been.

The inn was, she considered, the best they could find, but Nords cooped up inside during the storm did nothing positive for their demeanours and, upon opening the door, relishing the flash of heat from within, it was clear that tempers were beginning to flare.

“Say something again. I dare you.” It was Tilly’s voice and Öenthir shook her head as she wondered what was happening now. “Honestly, I’m not bothered if I cut off your balls or have another pint of mead, either is fine, but you say anything about her again and there’ll be new meat on the menu.”

The dark elf was stood behind a tall Nord with long, black braided hair, one hand gripping his throat, beneath his thick black beard, with fingers like a claw and the other hand holding a knife, casual and relaxed, at the man’s groin. Several other Nords stood around them, hands curled into fists.

Öenthir could see Revna, sat at a table part way through eating her broth, a meek, embarrassed look upon her face and, unnoticeable to anybody but Öenthir, Itagaki stood half-way down the stairs, her hand resting upon the hilt of her companion sword.

“Let it go, little elf.” Revna dipped her head and tried not to look at anybody. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t think so. These milk drinkers ...” To emphasise her point, Tilly jerked the hand holding the knife. “... think they can insult my friend? Those days are over. She’s more of a Nord than any of you lot and I want you to apologise.”

“I’m sorry.” The Nord mumbled, trying to lift himself on to his tiptoes.

“Not to me. Idiot. To her.” Tilly tightened her grip on his throat. “And feel free to be as formal as you possibly can be, eh?”

“Revna of ... of Ingrstad. Daughter of Asta. Daughter of Adira. I humbly beg your forgiveness.” The Nord’s eyes tried to look behind him to see if that was enough.

“Well, don’t we all feel better after that? I know I do.” Tilly released the Nord’s throat and moved around to his front, her knife gone in an instant. She stared up into the Nord’s eyes and then patted him, with no lightness, on his testicles. “No hard feelings, eh?”

Tilly flopped down onto the bench beside Revna, stealing some of the Khajiit’s bread. They were soon joined by Itagaki and then Öenthir herself, after she had removed her cloak, shaking the snow from it and her boots.

“And what was all that about?” Öenthir signalled to the serving girl, pointing at Revna’s empty bowl of broth and holding up one finger.

“Apparently, Stiig over there used to bully our big oaf here until she embarrassed him in front of all his friends and he’s held a grudge ever since.” Tilly thought that was enough, but Öenthir’s raised eyebrows caused her to elaborate. “Oh. Well, he called her a fake Nord, said she didn’t deserve to wear her sword or her armour. I disagreed. The only one allowed to insult my furball is me. And you two. I suppose.”

Öenthir rolled her eyes and thanked the serving girl as she placed a bowl of broth and a cut of bread in front of her. From an absolute loathing of Revna to defending her and calling her ‘my furball’ all in less than three months. Things had changed. Much like the armour the Nord had mentioned.

Revna had put away the Scorpion Black armour as soon as they reentered Skyrim, changing back into her intricate carved and forged Nord armour, with its fur and red woollen under-armour. The Khajiit had said it was due to the words of Dukhat that changed her mind, but Öenthir surmised that she also didn’t want to draw attention to herself in the place she called home.

She paused while eating, the spoon held before her mouth. She hadn’t thought about Dukhat and his betrayal in a couple of hours, now. She still found it hard to believe if she hadn’t witnessed it with her own eyes. Heard it with her own ears. Her most trusted mentor, working against her. It had devastated her.

She felt her hand curling into a fist and the first itching feeling of magicka channelling through her. Forcing herself, she flattened her hand on the table, dismissing the magicka from her body, and tried to continue eating, allowing the constant buzz of the inn’s common room to fill her ears and help to push away the anger she felt for the old Breton mage.

“When the storm finally ends, how far to this man, Corhan?” Itagaki had, as she usually did, moved the conversation back to planning, to strategy, to marshalling assets. “Our time begins to run short.”

“It’s a day to his hunting lodge and then another day, from there, to Deep Frost Barrow.” Revna had called over the serving girl to refill her mug of mead. Tilly eyed the girl with appreciation but stopped when she saw Itagaki’s stare. “If anyone knows anything about that place, it will be him. We are ... old friends.”

“‘Old friends’, eh?” Tilly made an exaggerated wink.

“No! Nothing like that!” It was the usual embarrassed bluster from the Khajiit whenever anyone mentioned anything that even implied sex. Öenthir smiled but changed it to a scowl at Tilly for playing games with their friend. “He helped me when I needed it the most. Perhaps old friends isn’t the right way to describe it.”

“Relax, sister. The dark elf is trying to embarrass you. Again.” Itagaki gave Tilly a sharp tap on her arm.

The Redguard had started calling Revna ‘sister’ not long after returning to the Red Spine village. Öenthir didn’t know if it meant as a ‘sister-in-arms’, or as a more intimate, familial way, but it felt right, somehow. The Khajiit, whether she knew it, or would even admit it, was the lynchpin of their little group.

She was the first to lend a shoulder when needed. The first to offer advice, or only an ear to listen. She had stayed steadfast at Tilly’s bedside when she was ill, and never strayed far from Itagaki while she recovered. She had protected them all at one point or another and, without saying a word about it, was loyal to them all. It was Revna that had held them together when things threatened to unravel.

So, yes, ‘sister’ was the perfect term for her.

Öenthir wondered what perfect term the others could use to describe her. She looked at them all, now. So close to ending this. So close to having the binding removed and regaining their freedom. She wondered if they would remain friends, or if they would go their separate ways. And, when she thought about it, how sad would she be if it was the latter?

iii. Itagaki.

She had stopped touching the scar. Almost. It was only a scar, she told herself. Only another story in her life as a warrior. These things were always expected. An inevitability if one lived long enough. She didn’t know why it had bothered her so much. She considered it had something to do with the attention she had received from Tilly. Not wanting to lose that connection.

She had nothing to worry about on that score. Due to the storm, the inn, overcrowded, had few rooms available and she and her friends had to share a room, taking it in turns for two of them to share the bed and two sleeping in bedrolls on the floor. The night she had spent in bed with Tilly had been satisfying. Not in a sexual way, but in the way she held her tight and smoothed her hair until they fell asleep. It felt right.

The day the storm finally broke saw the inn empty so fast, they had no sooner awoken and paraded downstairs for breakfast than the four of them were almost alone in the common room. Revna, immediately after eating, what seemed like, the whole of the food that was on offer for breakfast, had embarked to the local stable to check on their horses. She seemed to hold genuine care for the welfare of the horses that had carried them so far.

The rest of them prepared themselves for the journey, packing their things and buying food supplies from the innkeeper for the final part of their journey. Öenthir left soon after to find a clothier she had seen when searching for the apothecary, on the face of it to buy thicker cloaks for Itagaki and Tilly, but more like to see if there was anything ‘fabulous’ to wear in this climate, too.

“How are you feeling?” Tilly had spoken to her often, but she had tried to keep the conversations away from personal matters. The dark elf glanced sideways at her as she filled her pack. “Not just the scar, but, you know, your dream?”

“I do not think my dream was as bad as yours and Öenthir’s.” She rolled the twin Argonian hammers into her bedroll. “It was meant to provoke me, but I remembered your two dreams. It made me realise that it was not real. But it did help me to understand myself better.”

“You got more out of yours than I got from mine.” Tilly looked at Itagaki and a sadness crept into her eyes. Something Itagaki had never seen on the dark elf. “All mine did was make me think stupid things. Painful things.”

Itagaki did not say anything more on that. Revna had intimated that Tilly’s dream was the cause of the dark elf pushing her away in such a brutal fashion. It still hurt that she would do such a thing, but now, after what she experienced with her own dream, she could understand the reasoning better.

“Look what I found!” Öenthir barged into the room, throwing a pair of thick, sturdy cloaks towards Itagaki and Tilly, and doing a dramatic pirouette before them. She was wearing a very fetching long coat made of soft leather dyed a delicate purple and topped off with fur cuffs on the sleeves and a wide hood, lined, again, with fur. “The fur is ermine! Isn’t it just divine?”

“It’s a coat. Congratulations.” Tilly was teasing the mage, of course, but Öenthir didn’t seem to care.

“Oh, pish! It’s gorgeous and you know it. And ...” She dug into her pockets. “Matching gloves!”

Itagaki thought the little Bosmer was about to squeal in delight, but she stopped short. It was good to see her so happy after the terrible disappointment about her mentor. Itagaki couldn’t begrudge her a little happiness.

“Where do you get the money for all these clothes?” Tilly stroked the ermine fur hood and tried to hide the fact that the feel of it was impressive.

“I get paid a stipend by the Mages Guild, as part of my job finding books.” She slumped at the thought of the Mages Guild. “I suppose that will probably stop now. There’s no way they’ll believe me about Loremaster Dukhat and I can’t go back and act like nothing is wrong if he’s still there.”

“There is always the College, here in Winterhold.” Itagaki saw the mage’s face screw up in mock disgust. “Borgun’s mage, Dirgan, said he would sponsor you, did he not?”

“They’re little more than hedge wizards.” The Bosmer dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. “And it is freezing up here!”

“Freezing? I think it’s bracing!” Revna was full of the joys of spring as she entered the room. “The horses are ready. The stable-master did a fine job of looking after them. A fine job. I love your new coat, Wen.”

Öenthir rolled over on the bed, kicking her legs in the air and poked a playful tongue at Tilly. Revna had only proved her point about the coat and Tilly smiled in return. It was so good to see everyone finally enjoying each other’s company after all the little gripes and petty feuds. They may finally make it as a team, in time for their most difficult test.

“Are we all ready?” She swung her pack onto her back and checked the position of her swords in her sash. “If we want to reach Revna’s friend before nightfall, we should leave now.”

Revna picked up both hers and Öenthir’s packs and nodded. Tilly made a meal of picking up her pack, pretending to find it upsetting that Revna hadn’t picked up hers. They were all ready. Ready to face the final test in this long quest. Ready to put an end to it.

“Dammit.” Tilly dropped her pack and headed for the door. “I need a slash.”

iv. Tilly.

The cloak Wen had bought her was thick and warm, but holding the reins without gloves on diminished the warmth a bit too much. She tried wrapping her hands in the cloak, but it made holding the reins difficult. Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t. She hated Skyrim!

The was no way on Nirn that this was spring! The cold was biting, the wind made it worse and snowdrifts covered the trails that were laughably called roads, making progress difficult for the horses. They whinnied and snorted as they forced themselves to lift their legs and fight their way through banks of snow, sometimes three or four feet deep. Worse when they passed raised areas of ground where the snow had drifted into larger banks against the higher points and crags.

She felt like she would, after a fashion, miss the splendour of Winterhold. Even though she had seen little of the capital city, its sprawling winding roads with tall buildings teetering on the edge of the Sea of Ghosts, as if the city was daring the sea to challenge it, seemed lively and vibrant. Ignorant Nords insulting her friends aside, the people were warm and friendly, even to a dark elf like herself. But they had, for some bizarre reason, taken against Revna from a young age. They were an eclectic people, that was certain.

“The wolves are a bit excited today.” She had heard several howls in the near distance. “We’re not likely to be attacked by them, are we? I like wolves. I’d rather not have to kill any.”

“The wolves are sweet puppies. You’ve nothing to worry about them.” Revna turned in her saddle and gave Tilly a wicked smile. “It’s the Sabre Cats you have to worry about. They’ll tear you apart for fun. The giants will knock you seven ways to Sundas if you go near their mammoths and the mammoths think it’s fun to go near travellers so that the giants will knock you seven ways to Sundas.”

“You have a way of making people feel at home, sister.” Itagaki watched the surroundings even as she smiled at Revna’s colourful descriptions.

“It’s the duty of any Nord to be enthusiastic about all things Skyrim.” The Khajiit manoeuvred her horse around a deep snow bank. “I mean, look at it! Isn’t she beautiful?”

If she was honest, Tilly would admit there was a stark beauty to their surroundings. Snow-capped mountains towering in the distance. Snow covered trees glittering in the mid-day sun. Snow graced ruins seemed to be in abundance. Snow. So much snow. Beauty, she decided, was overrated.

“It’ll be Summer soon and all this snow ...” Öenthir waved her gloved hand in a dramatic arc at the landscape. “... will probably still be here. Just a little less of it.”

“I know! Magnificent, isn’t it.” Revna completely missed the sarcasm in Wen’s voice and they all chuckled at the Khajiit’s enthusiasm about her homeland. “You may laugh, but when the Divines created Skyrim, they saw it was perfect and cloaked it in snow to preserve its perfection. Skyrim is the jewel of Tamriel!”

Revna rode with her cloak open, flapping behind her in the wind, not seeming to feel the chill of the day. Even Itagaki, stoical, steadfast and not prone to show weakness, held her cloak closed tight.

“This hunter friend of yours, Corhan, are you sure he will be able to help us?” Itagaki took a second from keeping her eyes searching for things that may attack them and glanced at the Khajiit. “More importantly, can he be trusted.”

“That old fart has no interest in gold, so he can’t be bought. He doesn’t care about things happening in the world, so he’s not a fanatic and if he was going to kill you, he wouldn’t bother lying to you first. I don’t know if I trust him, but I don’t distrust him.” The Khajiit stretched in her saddle, relieving her back. “But if anyone knows anything about Deep Frost Barrow, it’s him. He’s older than the rocks and twice as hard. He’s been around, that old man.”

“Good to know.” They lapsed into silence for a while after that.

Tilly wondered if she was the only one that had noticed a distinct change in the Khajiit since reentering Skyrim. She was more boisterous. More enthusiastic. More talkative, for certain. It was like someone had lit a lamp and shined it upon her. She loved her homeland. A genuine love. Loved it with a passion, despite the rejection she suffered her whole life by its people. At heart, she really was a Nord. Proud, loud and stubborn, quick to fight, even quicker to drink. She couldn’t be more Nord if she were blonde without any fur.

Tilly wondered if that was why she found herself feeling sad for her big oaf? To spend an entire lifetime fighting for acceptance, only to face rejection time and again, and knowing that, despite everything she had seen and done, no-one would even know how much she had shown the best of what Skyrim could offer. What an example of a Nord she had been. The cat, for certain, wouldn’t tell them.

Tilly considered paying a bard to create songs and stories about her, only for fun. Have them tell of Revna, Scorpion Black reborn that cleaved a troll in half. That fought and defeated a dread necromancer. Revna, who faced down a giant Dwarven monstrosity. And make sure the bard told those stories in every bar and tavern in Skyrim, to drive it home to those who had pushed her away. Revna would hate that, which would make it even more delicious.

She finally admitted to herself that it was good that she and Revna had become friends. They were both very alone, usually, even in company, but Revna was a good friend to be alone with. The best.

v. Revna.

The ravine was a bottleneck, guiding travel down towards a blind turn ahead. Revna had brought the group to a halt, dismounting and looking around. Her eyes focused and intent. A few sparse trees dotted the floor of the ravine and, of course, snow drifts covered the ground.

“We should lead the horses.” She knelt beside one tree, examining around the base without disturbing anything. “We have to be careful. Corhan is tricky and paranoid. There’ll be traps.”

With gentle swipes, Revna moved the snow from around the tree revealing a thin length of string attached to a stick in the ground. Looking back to make sure her friends were at a safe distance, she leant back and tapped the stick, pulling her hand out the way, fast.

The string, bereft of its attachment, snapped back across the ground, sending snow flying into the air, followed by a rumbling from above at the other side of the ravine. Several large rocks fell from high upon the cliffs above, crashing to the floor sending puffs of snow in all directions.

“Point taken.” Itagaki dismounted and led her horse forward, looking up to the top of the steep cliff where the rocks had fallen from. “Tilly, I know it is not the same, but you must have steady hands with your thievery skills, correct?”

“Well, yeah. I suppose.” Tilly sat in her saddle looking bemused until it dawned on her what Itagaki was asking. “You want me to try and disarm any traps you find, don’t you?”

“None of us have experience with traps, but I assume your skills would be more useful than ours.” The Redguard continued to look at Tilly, letting peer pressure mount until the dark elf threw up her arms in defeat, dismounting from her horse. “Good. Now, let us be careful. Only walk where the one in front walks.”

“I can use my flame spell to melt the snow.” Since practicing with the Sap Speaker at Red Spine village, Öenthir had been using her spells more often. Making rain for water, lighting camp fires, using her Mage Light at night. She seemed to be almost desperate to be of use.

“That might be a good idea, but many of Corhan’s traps won’t be revealed if there isn’t any snow.” Revna tried to give the mage a comforting smile.

They made their way through the ravine, Revna identifying traps and Tilly doing her best to disarm them as they went. It didn’t help with one trap. A spike pit that they had missed almost swallowed Tilly, only for Revna to catch her arm in time before she fell down onto the wicked looking spikes below.

That was enough to make the party even more wary and progress slowed even more as they turned the bend seeing the valley beyond. Several disarmed or avoided traps later, they emerged into the valley where they could see Corhan’s hunting lodge, almost dead centre of the open area with a fifty foot space surrounding it where someone had cut down the trees to give a clear view of anyone approaching the lodge.

“Your friend does not seem to have left his home in some time. Or not been here in some time.” Pointing at the snow surrounding the lodge, Itagaki kept her eyes roving around their surroundings. “The snow has not been disturbed in days.”

“That’s not like him.” Revna gazed at the lodge. There were no lights inside and no smoke trailed from the chimney. It looked empty. “He usually hunts every day. It’s how he makes a living.”

“Maybe he’s dead?” Tilly caught Revna’s scowl of disapproval. “I know it’s a bit insensitive of me, but you did say he was old. Maybe he’s having his drinks in, what do you call it? Soddenground?”

“Sovngarde. Maybe you’re right. Maybe not.” Revna couldn’t help feeling saddened at the idea of old Corhan passing the doors of the Great Hall. Somehow she didn’t think he had. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why. She knew, somehow, he was still kicking around. “We should still move carefully. Dead or not, he’d have left a few surprises in his lodge for any visitors. Welcome or not.”

“You could wake the dead with all the noise you make.” The voice came from behind.

Itagaki was first to react, her long sword was already sweeping in an arc before anyone else had even begun to react, but even she was too slow. Before she had even brought her sword to bear upon the newcomer, she found a spear tip pointing at her throat.

The man holding the spear was a curious vision. About as tall as Revna, or a little shorter, he wore old, worn, furred leather armour that seemed a couple of sizes too big for him. His skinny, lithe arms held the spear with confidence and bright, intelligent eyes shone from a face framed by a big, bushy beard that hadn’t seen care, or a comb, for a long time. A bald head capped an old, weather worn face.

“Corhan! You old goat! Put the spear down.” Revna’s heart sang to see the old man was still very much alive. “Is this any way to greet visitors?”

“Depends on the visitors.” With reluctance, Corhan lowered his spear but kept his eyes on Itagaki until she sheathed her sword. She, likewise, didn’t take her eyes from him. “I suppose you’ll be wanting some supper? Bloody people. Always disturbing an old man.”

Corhan, without giving any sign of an invitation, proceeded towards his lodge, muttering to himself. He stopped at one point, scratched his head, poked the snow with the butt of his spear and then, with great care, made a wide step over where he had poked, before continuing on.

Revna looked at the others who all stared at her with the same questioning looks. She shrugged. What could she say that the old man hadn’t shown in such a perfect fashion? He was a mad old coot, but he was good at what he did.


	22. Chapter 22

22

i. Revna’s dream.

Why this? It could have been any other traumatic event in her life, but it had to be this one. She had, somehow, learned how to block out this dream, this memory, years ago. Waking up in the middle of the night, sweating no matter the weather. It wasn’t as if she blocked the memory itself, that was always still there, but the dream of it was always too painful for her mind to allow it to replay.

She remembered each and every part of this memory. The burning fire, stacked up with logs. The shadows flickering against the walls. Her Hearth-Mother, lying on the bed, hoarse breathing coming and going in fits and starts. The open wound in her stomach weeping continuous blood through the makeshift bandages.

“Stendarr’s mercy, girl! Your back!” Corhan, the irascible old hunter had managed to bring her Hearth-Mother here, safe, but dying. “Let me see to those cuts.”

“Leave them.” She had been stern, but not dismissive. “I’ll be fine. How is Mama?”

She hadn’t seen the old man, but she knew that he had been staring at the criss-cross lacerations in her back. She remembered feeling the blood trailing from them, matting her fur. Dripping on the dirt floor of the lodge. But the physical pain was nothing to the pain in her heart. She dropped to her knees, putting the bloodied Jotnbann aside, and clasped her Hearth-Mother’s hand.

“There’s nothing I can do, girl.” Corhan stepped to the other side of Asta, Revna’s Hearth-Mother and began replacing the bandage. “If I could get her to a healer, but she’d never survive the journey.”

“Mama?” She held her Hearth-Mother’s hand to her bare chest and moved a lock of hair away from her mother’s sweat sodden face. “I’m here, Mama.”

“Revna. My dear, beautiful child.” Her mother’s eyes appeared to stare at the roof, but she could see nothing, now. Her ragged breathing made talking difficult. “Adira! Where is your Shield-Mother?”

“She’s dead, Mama. I couldn’t stop them. Mama. They killed her with her own sword! They didn’t even let her fight!” It was Revna’s turn for her voice to break and she realised she was holding her mother’s hand too tight. “But I killed them, Mama. I killed them all!”

“All of them?” Corhan’s head had snapped up. “But there must have been twenty or more ...”

“Would you like to go and count them, old man?” She had been vicious then. Taking out anger on someone who didn’t deserve it. “Go! See! I tore out their throats with my teeth and claws! I gutted them and took their heads! Go! Look if you must!”

“Revna, my sweet child.” The anger subsided at the sound of her mother’s cracking voice. “Did you take her sword? Adira’s sword? My beautiful Adira!”

“I have it, Mama.” Revna lifted Jotnbann from the floor and placed it into her Mama’s hands. “I took it from their dead hands.”

With some reserve of strength, Revna’s Hearth-Mother gripped Jotnbann, her hands twisting against the leather wrapped grip. One hand fluttered out and, finding Revna’s hand, brought it up to the grip of the sword, patting it when she had done.

“So she feasts in Sovngarde, Jotnbann belongs to you, now, Daughter. Carry it with pride. Be a true daughter of Skyrim. For Adira. And for me.” Her Hearth-Mother’s sightless eyes turned to face Revna, a hand lifting to stroke Revna’s cheek. “Be good, little bird.”

A final, long, haunting breath escaped her Hearth-Mother’s lips and life left her. Revna had wanted to scream and to shout. To tear through this lodge. To go through the entirety of Skyrim slaughtering anything and everything in her path.

But she had slumped. Her fingers slipped from the grip of Jotnbann and she sobbed into her Hearth-Mother’s chest, inconsolable. She had knelt there for such a long time. Ignoring the pain in her back. Ignoring the cramping of her legs. She only wanted to stay with her mother for a little while longer.

“A true daughter of Skyrim?” The voice was Corhan’s, but the words were not what he had said. “You will never be accepted by Nords. Never!”

“Stop.” It seemed possible it was to do with how she had controlled this dream before, or that it was because she, in her sub-conscious, remembered her friends’ dreams. She knew this wasn’t real.

“You don’t have the strength! You are not a Nord! You ...”

“I said stop. I know who you are.” She rose to her feet looking around the room, searching for something that was not supposed to be there. She found it. A shadow that did not move with the flickering flames of the fire. “You are Dukhat. The mage. Öenthir’s mentor. You invade our dreams, bring us to these terrible times, and for what? Amusement?”

“You know nothing of me or of what I want.” The voice from the shadow sounded distorted, indistinct.

“You cannot take this from me.” Revna waved a hand at the scene around her. “This is precious and you will not sully this memory. You have no power here.”

“Do I not?” A movement from the shadow. A wave of the hand? Corhan, the memory of him, rose from beside Revna’s Hearth-Mother, taking Jotnbann in his hands and raising it above his head, about to strike at her.

“No. You do not.” She closed her eyes.

ii. Revna.

She woke up to the noise that she had come to expect in Corhan’s lodge. They had been stuck in the hut for two days, now, as the snowstorm had returned with a vengeance. Corhan didn’t like company at the best of times, but with three people he didn’t even know, it was causing aggravation and tensions were high.

She wiped her brow. She hadn’t sweated as much as she used to do when that dream had played out, before she had learned how to break the dream, but she still found that her fur was slick with moisture. She washed herself down with the bowl of water that Corhan had provided before getting dressed and joining the others.

“You know what you’ve been short of, girl? A few slaps on the arse when you were a young ‘un!” Corhan, bare chested, his once muscular body, now wrinkled and and loose skinned, towered above Tilly, his beard jutting out and his eyes fit to bursting.

“Go ahead, you old bastard!” Tilly, her head not even reaching Corhan’s chin, stood before the old hunter, standing her ground, defiant. “It’s probably the closest you’ve been to sex for fifty years!”

“You cheeky little ... Is this how you repay my hospitality?” He clenched his fists a few times and then turned away, storming towards the door to the lodge, collecting his wood axe on the way, and left, slamming the door behind him.

Tilly watched him leave with a smug smile on her face and then sat down beside the fire, picking up a scrap of bread and stuffing it in to her mouth without a care in the world. Revna sighed and sat down next to Öenthir. She looked over the mage’s shoulder at the book in her hand. The pages were empty.

“What was it about this time?” She looked over at Tilly, slouched in the chair, chewing her bread.

“Tilly practised her knife throwing against his favourite stuffed head.” Öenthir nodded towards a tattered wolf’s head mounted on a piece of rough wood on the wall.

“Dammit, Tilly, can’t you just try to get along? At least until this storm breaks?” She rubbed her forehead. It was too early for this kind of thing. “I know he’s not easy to deal with, but ...”

“What do you mean ‘get along’?” The dark elf tossed the last nub of bread into the roaring fire. “I think he’s brilliant and he likes me, I can tell.”

“But you’ve done nothing but fight and argue since we met him.” Öenthir closed her empty book and tucked it away into her satchel.

“Oh, that’s just play fighting. We have an understanding.” Tilly winked at Öenthir.

“Just so long as your ‘play fighting’ doesn’t end up as real fighting.” Itagaki had been sat silent in the corner, far from the fire. Revna hoped that this wasn’t a sign that her injury had caused a fear of fire in general. The Redguard had said nothing about it, either way.

“I had my dream.” Revna made a simple statement. It seemed as good a time as any to bring it up with Corhan outside. Everyone immediately began paying attention. “I don’t think it’s Dukhat who’s entering our dreams.”

“How do you know?” Öenthir placed her hand on Revna’s arm.

“He said so. Kind of. I confronted the shadow in my dream. It, he, was still hiding his face. If it was your old teacher, why would he bother to hide?” She stood, moving to the fire and poured some tea into a mug from the pot on the hearth.

“So, you’re just going to take this man’s word for it? I’m sure people who invade dreams are highly trustworthy.” Tilly had a way of simplifying things. Of getting to the heart of everyone’s thoughts, but Revna felt her friend was wrong this time.

“If it is not Öenthir’s mentor, who is it that is doing this?” Itagaki had moved closer to the others. “Who else could it be?”

“Well, Dukhat did mention the ‘Three Headed Dragon’. Perhaps he was referring to him and two others?” Öenthir rummaged in her satchel and pulled out a book, flipping through the pages. “And here, the leader of those men we fought outside Riften, they had tattoos of three dragon heads in a triangle. I did wonder if it signified one person or three, at the time.”

“Wait. You’ve been writing all of this down? In a diary?” Jumping up, Tilly tried to get a look at the book in Öenthir’s hand, but she clasped it to her chest, fast, hiding the words. “What do you say about me?”

“Probably nothing good, little elf.” Revna dragged Tilly away as the dark elf tried to pull the book down to look at what Öenthir had written. “So, we’ve all been visited in our dreams. Now what?”

“Now we continue in our task. There is nothing else we can do.” Revna caught even Itagaki making a curious look towards Öenthir’s diary.

The door to the lodge opened, allowing the frigid winds from the storm to blow inside, snow wafting in with the wind. Corhan entered, a big stack of firewood in his hands and his axe atop that. Using his shoulder, he forced the door closed and it clicked onto its latch.

“Storm’ll break by tomorrow, I reckon.” He dropped the firewood next to the fire and picked up his axe to stow away beside the door. He nodded his head towards Tilly. “Them horses of yours need feeding, girl.”

“Why me? You could have fed them while you were out there, you daft old goat!” Tilly flopped back into the chair, stubborn, refusing to move.

“Old goat, is it? Old goat?” Corhan rumbled. “I’ll give you ‘old goat’!”

“I’ll feed the horses.” Revna stood, sighing. She hoped the storm did break soon. She didn’t think she could handle much more of this.

Without bothering to collect her cloak, she opened the door and stepped outside. The pricking of the cold and the whistling of the wind felt good against her fur. It was calming to her and, listening to the shouts coming from the lodge, even over the wind, she knew she would need to remain calm as long as Tilly and Corhan were near each other.

iii. Itagaki.

The old Nord hunter was almost exactly correct in his prediction. The snowstorm ended during the night and preparations to continue on to Deep Frost Barrow were soon made in the morning. Itagaki didn’t look forward to being out in the cold again. The scar on her face seemed to throb in the chill, despite it being, as far as she could tell, all but healed. It was only another ache, though, to go along with the old wound in her side. Another story written in her body.

For some reason, known only to himself, Corhan had elected to join them on the journey to their next destination. On foot. The sight of the ancient hunter jogging alongside them was, in truth, a strange one. At times he would jog alongside Revna, chiding her about not using Jotnbann, her family heirloom. At other times, he would be beside Tilly, continuing the bickering rapport they had fomented between themselves. Still other times, he would disappear into the snow covered landscape, only to return with a rabbit or a bird of some kind that he would then tie to Revna’s horse.

By mid-day they had made surprising progress. The old hunter would lead them off the road, often citing that it would be easier through a gap between some rocks, or that following the edge of a copse of trees would save them time and the energy of fighting through the new, soft snow drifts left by the snow storm.

“I’ll stick to riding the horse, thank you very much.” Tilly, responding to the taunts of Corhan, disparaging their need for horses and decrying the lack of mettle in the ‘young of today’. “And just how old are you, anyway? Three, four hundred years old?”

“I’m older than the grass, younger than the mountains and I can still outrun you, missy!” It was a funny relationship the two very different people had. Itagaki didn’t understand it and she doubted Revna or Öenthir did, either. “If you’d been my daughter, you’d have been made hard by these lands, not soft like them Morrowind buggers.”

“If I was your daughter, I’d have died of old age centuries ago.” The dark elf looked down at the old man beside her, pretending to sneer at him. It was possible Tilly needed an antagonistic relationship? Now that she had finally accepted Revna’s friendship, she had no-one to argue with. The old Nord filled a gap.

Leaving them to their back-and-forth, Itagaki sped up to join Revna at the head of the group.

“At least I think they are not likely to kill each other, sister.” She nodded her head back at Tilly and her new friend. “But, you look troubled.”

“I think we have a shadow.” Revna’s ears pivoted this way and that. “The old man noticed a while back.”

“Bandits? More followers of the Three Headed Dragon?” Revna shook her head, reining in her horse. She dropped to the snow covered ground and pulled her double-headed axe from her weapons roll. Itagaki dropped down, drawing her long sword.

“Finally noticed it, eh?” Corhan fell in beside Revna, patting her horse’s neck. “Took your bloody time. It’s been on our scent for a couple of miles.”

“What is it?” Öenthir had joined them, now, whispering. Tilly remained on her horse looking completely unconcerned.

“Sabre Cat, lass. Better stay behind these two.” Corhan pulled her out of the way as Revna stepped out into the open. Itagaki joined her, eyes searching the trees and rocks for the coming attack.

“Wait! You don’t have to kill it. There’s been enough of that, don’t you think?” The little Bosmer pulled away from Corhan, stepping up beside Itagaki and Revna. “Just keep it occupied and I’ll make sure it can’t attack us. Trust me.”

Itagaki wasn’t sure what the wood elf had in mind, but Revna shrugged her shoulders. The Khajiit circled to the right, staring at a spot a short distance away, so Itagaki circled left. She couldn’t see what Revna could see, but she focused her attention to the same spot.

Then the snow moved. The Sabre Cat, four hundred pounds, if it was an ounce, brilliant white fur with grey/black stripes, pounced between the two warriors. By the looks of it, despite its size, the winter had not been kind to the animal. It was almost skin and bone, had not eaten in weeks, by the look of it. Itagaki had no stomach to kill it and hoped that Öenthir was true to her word.

She and Revna kept the desperate, hungry cat between them, taking it in turns to taunt it. Forcing it to look at one and then the other, not giving it time to decide which one of them it would attack first. She glanced over at Öenthir and saw the mage weaving a spell with her hands in the air. It was then that the Sabre Cat decided to leap.

But it found itself held. A circle of glowing blue sigils had appeared upon the ground around it. It tried, several times, to leap towards one or the other of the companions, but the glowing circle held it firm in place. Itagaki turned to Öenthir, impressed.

“Rune Prison. New spell.” The mage was breathing heavy and bent almost double trying to catch her breath, her hands on her knees. “Wasn’t ... wasn’t certain I could cast it.”

“How long will it last?” Revna tested the circle and almost lost a hand as the cat swiped at her. Things could go in, but the Sabre Cat couldn’t get out.

“I don’t know. Couple of hours. More or less.” The mage seemed very pleased with herself, and so she should be. This new spell could, it seemed almost certain, come in handy.

“Eh, lass.” Corhan shook his head and sighed. “You’ve done that animal no favours.”

The old hunter strode towards the imprisoned Sabre Cat. The cat roared and swiped towards him, but it couldn’t pass the edge of the circle. Again, Corhan sighed, reaching behind his back and pulling out a long knife. Without his hand passing the edge of the circle, he waited for the right opportunity and plunged the knife under the cat’s jaw, burying it deep into the animal’s brain, killing it in an instant.

“No!” Öenthir screamed. “I did that so we wouldn’t have to kill it! Why?”

“All you did was make it an easy target.” The old man struggled to pull the big cat from the Rune Prison circle. “There are other animals need to feed around here. This poor thing would have been savaged before we disappeared out of sight. It was a mercy. And I can get good money for this pelt.”

Itagaki took hold of Öenthir, gathering her up into her arms. The mage was in whirl of emotion. Rage and sadness fighting for the chance for expression. She held the mage’s arms tight. After seeing her cast the Rune Prison, the little Bosmer was, it appeared, becoming stronger in her magicks and they still hadn’t seen what the other new spell she had learnt could do. But they had all seen what she could do when rage took control of her. The Kotu Gava brood-mother had suffered her wrath on that occasion.

The last thing Itagaki wanted to see was that rage taking over again and seeing Öenthir use her power against the old hunter. Especially as she agreed with him.

iv. Tilly.

She didn’t know what all the fuss was about. Either Revna, Itagaki or even Tilly herself would have had to have killed the Sabre Cat if Öenthir hadn’t have trapped it with the spell. It would have killed them, given half a chance, but the Bosmer mage was still furious at the old hunter. And, besides, he had been right.

Even from this distance, they could hear the sounds of wolves in a frenzy as they fought over the cat’s remains. At least Corhan had killed it with a relative lack of pain. The wolves would have torn apart the cat, trapped and unable to defend itself, and it would have suffered.

It was only an animal. Animals die all the time.

“You’ve not made a friend there, old man.” She looked down at him as he kept pace with her horse.

“Don’t see as I rightly care.” Corhan had attached the pelt to Tilly’s horse and wasn’t going anywhere far from it. “That cat had a right to die properly. Besides, I don’t need friends, but I do need the money that pelt will get me.”

“You don’t need friends, eh?” She nodded towards Revna, a couple of horse lengths in front. “Not even her?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re friends, exactly.” The old Nord’s features darkened. “Me and her have history. The kind that holds people together, even if they don’t want to.”

Tilly could understand that, without prying into what it was that held a grumpy old Nord and a Khajiit together. She felt that she too had that kind of history, now, with her three bound companions. It was possible they may not end up as friends for long after the binding became broken, but they would always have a connection. Some more than others, she mused, but all of them to some degree.

They were making their way through a maze-like structure of ravines and crevasses, made from rocks and ice. There were no pathways here. If any had ever led the way to Deep Frost Barrows, the snow and the ice and the passage of time, had swallowed them years ago.

Corhan quickened his pace and ran to catch up to Revna and Itagaki at the front, leaving his prize pelt behind. Tilly could see Öenthir, sullen, riding on the other side, staring with restrained anger at the old man as he ran.

“Wen?” She tried again to start a conversation with the wood elf. “You have to let it go, love.”

“I can’t.” The wood elf’s eyes flicked towards Tilly and then back at the old man, boring into the back of his head. “It was trapped. Helpless. And he just ... he just ...”

“You know he’s a hunter, right?” Tilly couldn’t believe she was having to explain this. “It’s what he does. He does it all the time. Done it all his ridiculously long life. Are you going to be upset about all the other animals he’s killed?”

“It’s not the same.” Öenthir glanced at the pelt behind Tilly, as if she thought it was taunting her.

“It’s exactly the same. Only this time it was your trap that caught the animal and not one of his.” She shifted in her saddle, feeling herself get a little annoyed at Wen. “Is that what is? You feel responsible because it was your new spell that trapped it? Well, all I can say is, after dismantling some of his traps, it was a damn sight less cruel catching it in yours than one of his.”

“It’s not the same.” Ah, her tone had changed. Reverting to that stuffy way she had spoken when they first met. Wen was angry with her, now, but Tilly could see the mage was already turning what she had said over in her head.

They had all stopped while Corhan talked with Revna and Itagaki. There were some hands thrown out in directions and a couple of looks back to her and Öenthir. A few head nods later and her two companions dismounted with Corhan returning to her and Wen.

“We best make camp here. The barrow is just over that ridge and we don’t want to camp too near it at night.” The old man took the pelt from behind Tilly, unrolled it and laid it on the ground. The fresh skinned fur was to be his bed for the night.

“Why not camp nearer the barrow if it’s not that far?” It was a fair question, she thought.

“Do you want to camp where the dead walk at night? Didn’t think so. I’ll get some food.” The old hunter made his point and then ran back the way they had come with only his knife at hand to find food for the night.

This is it, she thought, the last step before the end. Soon, if they survived, they would return the last gem, lift the curse and get this damned binding broken. And then what? She didn’t know. She didn’t know if anything was ever going to happen for her and Itagaki. She didn’t know where she would go (somewhere warmer than here, she hoped, which wasn’t hard). She didn’t know if she would return to her calling or retire and become a merchant, like Finds-Things-Not-Lost.

She had no idea what was going to happen.

v. Öenthir.

She found it difficult to sleep at all. The old hunter didn’t sleep much, either, but for differing reasons. She’d drift off for a few minutes, here and there, but the intense cold would soon wake her up again, despite wearing both her new coat and her thick cloak. Revna fell straight to sleep after taking first watch and didn’t stir for the rest of the night, snoring away even through Tilly’s mumbled complaints as she took over.

Itagaki, as ever, seemed to sleep while still being tense and alert. Several times she appeared to be in a deep sleep only to be wide awake and completely aware as Corhan would disappear into the night and return moments later with a dead rabbit or a squirrel, chuckling to himself as he gutted and skinned the animals.

She couldn’t get over the old Nord killing the Sabre Cat. It just felt wrong, somehow. The great and noble creature, rendered helpless by her hand, left at the mercy of the man that killed it without any hesitation. She could not abide the ruthlessness with which it had happened. Not callous, though. That she would admit. He did kill it in the least painful manner and she did, in truth, understand the reasoning behind it. She still didn’t like it.

The morning came slow, as far as she felt concerned and even attempting to read the third spell book was beyond her. The book was complex at the best of times, but, here in the snow covered waste, she couldn’t concentrate on it at all. It wasn’t a problem, as such. The book and the spell would take months to master. One night wasn’t going to change that. She put it away when everyone began waking up and the camp became a hive of activity.

They broke the camp down with practised speed and they were soon on their way, taking the now short leg of the journey to the tomb and, when they crested the final rise, the sight took Öenthir’s breath away.

Like the rib cage of some ancient, enormous creature, the structure of Deep Frost Barrows rose out of the snow. A series of stone pillars, topped with crude carved dragon heads, led the way to the main section, where a dais raised before it with unlit braziers either side a stone altar. It was the most impressive of the tombs they had seen, from the outside. Corhan paused the party before they descended.

“See the stack of flat rocks to the West?” He held Revna by the crook of the elbow as he pointed. “Remember that place. The Ancients who built this place put passages throughout the Barrows, ways out without having to go back through the rest of the place. When you get in, it’s only one way and that’s where you’ll come out.”

“What did they do that for?” Tilly found it odd to build something that way.

“How the bloody Oblivion do I know?” The old hunter threw up his hands, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe it’s because death is supposed to be one way, there’s no coming back from it. Pity they didn’t tell the draugr that.”

They began the descent, then, nearing the great ancient Nord edifice. The sheer size, the scale of the place, seemed to loom over them the closer they got to the structure, looming like some skeletal harbinger of doom.

Öenthir didn’t like it. She hadn’t liked the other tombs, either. They were, after all, tombs. But there was something different about this place. Something sinister, as if the tomb itself was giving off a sense of deep, evil malice. Like the Barrows themselves were turning a malevolent eye at their approach.

“Is there some secret, special way to get in?” Itagaki had dismounted from her horse and was examining the doors.

“Aye. You push the doors and they open.” Corhan took the reins from everyone as they dismounted and began tying the horses together in a line. “Make sure you’ve got everything you need as the only way back is to go through. I’ll be waiting at those rocks for you.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” She didn’t know why, but she wanted to get one last snipe in. Revna trusted him and that would be enough for her under normal circumstances. She just wanted to stick the proverbial knife in. “You might take our horses and skin them.”

“There’s little money in horse pelts, girl.” He grinned at her, missing teeth making the grin odd and comical. “Bosmer skin, however, that would get a fine price.”

“Hey! No bickering with the old git! That’s my job.” Tilly grabbed Öenthir’s arm and dragged her away.

“All right, that’s enough! Corhan, take the horses to the exit at the rocks.” It was Revna taking charge instead of Itagaki, for once. The Khajiit checked to make sure Jotnbann was secure on her back. She winked at the old man. “And the horses better still have their skins when we get back.”

Öenthir knew she had been ridiculous, foolish even, she felt she needed to say something to the old Nord. Now, however, she had to prepare herself for the descent into the tomb. The others were also preparing.

While Revna checked the edges of her double-headed battle axe, Itagaki went around the Khajiit, checking her armour, tightening straps, making sure every part was secure. Revna returned the favour, checking Itagaki’s Redguard armour. Tilly made sure that “Grave’s Friend” and “Bedtime Story” were loose and sharp. Even though those enchantments wouldn’t work against the dead, the dark elf’s daggers were long enough to cause damage without them.

For her part, Öenthir made sure her satchel was set and hanging in the correct position. It would be a pain if it kept bouncing around if she had to run. She made sure she had a tight grip on the staff Revna had carved for her but, despite the few lessons Revna and Itagaki had given her in staff fighting, she doubted she would be any use with physical attacks.

No. Her main use was to be in how well she cast her spells and how long she could keep up the casting before she tired herself out. She knew she would have to hold back using her newer spells until they were needed. The others, her original five spells, she could cast without tiring herself, now, after practicing them all so much and the training she had received from the Sap Speaker.

She was as ready as she could be and she noticed she wasn’t the only one taking deep, calming breaths.

Itagaki made one last look to everybody, to make sure they were ready, and pushed at the large, sturdy double doors that led into Deep Frost Barrows.


	23. Chapter 23

23

i. Tilly.

Öenthir cast her Mage Light spell. As soon as the doors automatically closed behind them, the darkness of the Barrows had closed in. What the light revealed was a small chamber with various sized and shaped urns lining the walls, some broken, others laying on their sides, ash tipping from within.

There was a strange warmth, inside the Barrow, and the air smelled and tasted stagnant and dry. The walls and floor were crude and featureless. The large stone flags of the floor were of varying sizes, cut to roughly square and rectangular shapes, fitting together loose with packed soil between the gaps.

A stone staircase forged its way downwards, the centre of each step bevelled by centuries of passing feet. Whether those feet had been of the living or of the dead, Tilly could make no guess, but the outside had shown few signs of human activity.

They found several old, dry torches dropped into a corner, tucked behind a large, bulbous burial urn and both she and Itagaki took one each, struggling to get them lit. Revna needed both hands for her battle axe and Öenthir would need both hands for her spellcasting, so they declined a torch.

She didn’t like holding only one of her daggers, but they didn’t want to strain Öenthir’s magicka reserves too early. She could have expanded her light, but the larger the light, the longer she maintained it, the more magicka she would use and the closer she would come to tiring herself out.

“I suppose we should go downwards, then?” She offered, her voice taut and tense.

“Aye.” Even Revna sounded strained as her deep voice echoed down the stairs and into the depths of the Barrow.

With the party having two torches burning, Öenthir took the opportunity to send her Mage Light orb wafting ahead, down the stairs. They saw it bob and weave and then level out some twenty feet down and, as they followed the light, they saw the first proper chamber of the Barrow.

This was a long room, not much wider than the stairs they had descended, but they found the first evidence of the Barrow’s purpose. Three rows of alcoves were on each side of the chamber, about two dozen, in total, each containing shrouded remains.

Tilly couldn’t believe herself, but she had no urge to collect any of the piles of coins and pieces of jewellery that could see within the alcoves. Offerings to the dead and the belongings that had adorned these once living, vibrant people. She wanted to get out of this dark, oppressive place.

“There are two exits. Which way, sister?” Itagaki, with a hushed whisper, made a questioning look towards Revna.

As Itagaki had done in the tomb of Onzngknd, and Öenthir before her in Gwinilden’s tomb, Revna pulled out their last remaining Gem of Unison and held it up to each of the archways before her. The now familiar pulsing glow began in the Gem as soon as the Khajiit pointed towards the right hand side.

“To the right, then.” She returned the Gem to a pouch attached to her belt and renewed her grip on the shaft of her battle axe, edging towards the archway.

Tilly couldn’t put her finger on why, but this place seemed far worse than the other two tombs. It was possible it was the setting, or it could be it was because the chambers and passageways, here, were tighter, more constricted, but there was an intense feeling of foreboding washing over her at every step. The sense of malice they had felt outside magnified within these walls and every step they took felt like they were walking blind to their own doom.

She had to stop for a second, putting her dagger away so that she could wipe her palms on her battered noble’s jacket, the jacket that she had stolen so long ago. She couldn’t remember a time when she had been so nervous that her palms had sweated this much. She wiped her hand again, staring at it, before pulling out her dagger again.

“You feel it too?” Öenthir, her face darkened by shadows, stood beside her. “Like there’s some force, some will that is pushing us back, or, maybe, like we’re being enveloped in some creature’s hate?”

“Well, I probably wouldn’t put it quite like that.” She rubbed her forehead with the sleeve of her coat. “But there’s definitely something coming. Something bad.”

Revna, that soft-hearted fool of a Khajiit, looked back at Tilly and Öenthir. It was like she could sense their trepidation and she smiled warm and comforting, the light from Itagaki’s torch casting a broken shadow of their friend against the wall.

“Don’t linger. We don’t want the dead to feel your warmth and want a taste of it.” Dark humour aside, the cat had a point. They needed to keep moving. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get to a tavern and drink and joke about how easy this was.”

Tilly affirmed her grip on her dagger and the shaft of the torch. Looking at Öenthir, she saw that she, also, had forced her features into a more determined expression and together they followed Itagaki and Revna into the next corridor.

ii. Itagaki.

This felt different to the other tombs. She could feel it with every step. The corridor opened up into a chamber and they found themselves on a mezzanine platform that followed the path of the walls with a rough wooden walkway that led down to the chamber floor.

Several sarcophagi were leant against the walls, or fallen to the floor, some tilted at odd angles. There were more of the ceremonial urns, too. Most made from pottery, some from clay and others even made from metal. In the centre of the chamber, an altar held offerings for the dead. Rotted food, weapons of many varieties and jewellery and ancient coins.

She looked over at Tilly when she saw the bounty of riches upon the altar, but the dark elf surprised her by paying little, if any, attention to the gold and silver and precious stones. It was possible the dark elf had put aside her pilfering ways, or, most like, she too felt the insidious weight of the tomb and had better things to worry about?

She saw another archway to the right and edged her way towards it. Every so often, she would see Revna hold up the Gem of Unison, to check they were going the right way. The gem pulsing with its dim, blue light as it sensed the right direction.

“Does anyone else suddenly feel cold?” Öenthir breathed out and watched her breath condense into a tiny cloud before her eyes.

“Be aware!” Itagaki spun around, searching the shadows, eyeing the sarcophagi, and herded Tilly and Öenthir between her and Revna.

They found themselves greeted, then, by the sound of stone grating on stone. Slow, intermittent at first, and then growing louder as two of the cover stones on the sarcophagi began moving aside.

There was a hollow in the central altar and she placed her torch within it, taking a double-handed grip on her long sword as she saw the cover stones pushed aside, hitting the floor of the chamber with a deafening thud that rebounded from the walls. Dust, thrown into the air by the crashing stones, lingered in a cloud as two tall creatures stepped from within.

They were tall, made to appear even taller with the horned helmets they wore. Dried, parchment-like skin still attached to bony faces. Ragged, rusted armour held on by worn leather straps and bits of rotted cloth beneath it were all the creatures wore, but the weapons they held still appeared to have keen edges. Draugr.

The draugr opened their mouths and, without vocal chords or air from desiccated lungs, managed to make some form of guttural sound. Dim flashes of light winked where eyes would once have gazed from and strips of dried flesh, that may once have been muscles, tensed as they marched forward, weapons held for attack.

“Hit them hard!” Revna yelled as she tore across the chamber floor, her double-headed battle axe swinging towards the nearest draugr.

Itagaki followed Revna’s lead, launching herself at the other draugr, but the dead warriors were ready for them both. With a speed neither Itagaki or Revna expected, both draugr blocked the initial attacks and made counter-moves immediately. Itagaki was almost unable to parry the blow from the two-handed sword in the dead warrior’s hand.

She tried stepping aside, but the greatsword whistled through the air, missing her arm by less than an inch. Blocked, she tried shoulder-barging the creature, but it slipped aside and she barrelled forward, almost losing her balance and only managing to bring her sword in front of her head to stop the greatsword from cleaving her skull in at the last second.

A second blow towards her head rattled her sword arm as she blocked it. The draugr were relentless, quick and strong in an unnatural, impossible way. She chanced a look over towards Revna, but the big Khajiit was having no more luck than she was, pushed backwards against the wall, the draugr she was fighting advancing.

Tilly appeared from somewhere, slicing the back of the draugr’s leg, but it made no difference. There was nothing there to cut that would slow it down. Without a thought, the dead warrior swatted Tilly aside, sending her sprawling into the altar. But it was a lucky hit, too, as an arrow sailed through the air right where Tilly’s head had been.

“Archer! Somebody take that thing!” In the tumult, no-one had noticed a third sarcophagus opening. The archer held a creaking, ancient bow. Dry and with little suppleness to it, but still able to fire arrows in this tight space.

Itagaki couldn’t handle both the archer and the draugr before her. It continued its assault, driving her back with repeated blows coming from all directions and it was she could do to keep blocking and parrying and moving backwards. She couldn’t see an opening.

Then there came the sound of something. A tinkling sound, like hundreds of diamonds falling into a jar. The sound seemed to circle around getting louder and louder and a brilliant purple light filled the room. Then the light seemed to fly, screaming to the other side of the chamber and something hit the archer. The light, or the thing giving off the light, struck the archer dead centre of its chest and exploded, sending purple shards splintering apart, shredding the archer to pieces.

Even the other draugr paused at the sudden second demise of their comrade and that was all the opening that Itagaki needed. Her sword flashed beneath the paused strike of the draugr, cutting through the thigh bones of both its legs. Before it had even begun to fall, she had slipped behind it and brought her sword down in a mighty swipe, crashing through the bones in its shoulder, down, through its ribcage, leaving the creature in several pieces on the floor.

Revna had also used the distraction, launching a kick into the chest of her opponent, sending it clattering backwards and giving her space to swing her axe in a great arc and separating the draugr into two halves, which fell, almost pathetic, to the sides.

Itagaki collapsed to her knees, leaning heavy upon her sword. She tried to catch her breath. That had been far more difficult than she had expected. When she could, she looked around. Revna was also breathing heavy, hunched over, her hands on her knees. Tilly wasn’t too worse for wear, apart from a bruise to her face, but it was Öenthir that caused her concern.

Sat on the ground, her back to the altar, she seemed to be gasping for air and looked more tired than Itagaki had ever seen her.

“What in Oblivion was that?” Tilly was on the other side of the altar from Öenthir and couldn’t see the nature of Itagaki’s concern.

“I think that was one of Wen’s new spells.” Revna had moved to kneel beside Öenthir, trying to loosen the Bosmer’s coat to allow her to breathe.

Itagaki was at Öenthir’s side almost as fast as Revna. She found herself grabbed by the Bosmer, her hand clutching Itagaki’s arm. Fighting for each breath, the wood elf gulped and stared into her eyes. She seemed to take comfort in the closeness of her friends and, slow and tortuous, her breathing began to slow and come more regular until she was finally breathing once again.

And then she laughed. A full, hearty belly laugh that echoed around the chamber.

iii. Öenthir.

She had had sex before, and that felt good. She had, it was obvious, cast spells before, and that felt really good. She had never felt anything like this before. It was like the biggest orgasm she’d ever had multiplied over and over. She felt amazing!

One hand found its way between her legs and she clamped her thighs together as tight as she could. Her other hand covered her mouth trying to stifle the laughter that she could feel still waiting to erupt again. Her chest rose and fell as if she had been running for miles and she stared at the floor, oblivious to anything and everything around her.

“Wen?” It was Revna’s voice that brought her out of her reverie and she snatched her hand from between her legs with a speed borne of embarrassment.

Blushing, guilty, she jumped to her feet, her legs shaking, and brushed down her coat, in dramatic fashion, as if the dirt upon it was the most important thing in the world at that moment. When her legs stopped shaking, her hands pushed stray hairs out of her face and she gave an imperious look towards her Khajiiti friend.

“We should move on.” Her voice was wobbling. She could hear it and she coughed once before continuing. “Which way?”

“Öenthir, friend, what was that?” Itagaki placed a hand on Öenthir’s arm and tried to look into her eyes, but she avoided the gaze. “You looked like you were about to die. Are you going to be able to continue?”

“I’m fine.” Her voice cracked again and she straightened her back, defiant. “I’m fine. That spell was a little more powerful than I expected. Crystal Shards. One of my new ones.”

“It looked like it did more than nearly kill you. I’ve seen people make faces like that before.” Tilly winked at Revna. “Trust me. Are you going to be able to cast any more spells?”

“My old ones, yes.” She looked around and saw her staff on the floor, reaching down to pick it up. “I don’t think I have the strength to cast the new ones again for a while. Maybe the Rune Prison, but not that one.”

They all stared at her with a mixture of concern and Tilly grinned at her embarrassment. She knew they had all seen her reaction when she had started being able to breathe again and that only made her blush even more. Unlike Tilly, however, Revna and Itagaki seemed more concerned about her health than her inappropriate reaction.

“Alright, then. We shall keep moving.” Checking the edge of her sword, Itagaki moved towards the next archway. “Wen, rest. Only use your spells if you need to. Tilly, keep an eye on Öenthir.”

“Oh, I’ll keep an eye on the mucky bugger, alright.” The dark elf was still grinning and she moved in closer to whisper. “I never knew mages had it so good. Maybe I’ll join the Mages Guild myself.”

Of course Tilly would be the one to keep mentioning it. The others were more diplomatic, even though they couldn’t have missed the sexual, charged reaction she had experienced.

She reignited her Mage Light spell and followed Itagaki and Revna as they moved with caution on through the Barrow. Casting such a simple spell felt like such a disappointment now. The Crystal Shards spell was on a completely different level. It was no wonder that the Mages Guild frowned upon such dark magicks. Apart from the intense thrill of casting the spell, she now had a deep need to do it again.

She had felt it, to a lesser degree, when she had cast the Rune Prison spell. These dark magick spells had a seductive edge to them. She wanted more. The Mages Guild would, she felt certain, not allow her to explore these kinds of spells, if she was ever able to return to the Guild, that is. The Guild was the weakest school of magick, the Nord mage, Dirgan, had said and now she could well believe it.

Thinking of that gruff old mage reminded her that he had offered to sponsor her with the College of Winterhold. She considered, when this was all over, she would take him up on the offer? One thing she knew for certain was that she wanted, no, needed to find more spells. She needed to feel, again, like she had felt with that spell. She needed that power.

“Be careful on the stairs.” Itagaki had begun descending a staircase they had encountered and Öenthir realised she hadn’t been paying attention.

She also noticed that she had begun powering up the Crystal Shards spell and then dismissing it. As far as she could tell, she’d done it several times since leaving the chamber. Summoning the magicka and then dismissing it before the spell was cast. Over and over.

Tilly, the sordid grin gone from her face, was watching her. The dark elf reached out and clasped her hand, giving it a squeeze and she found herself thankful. The seductive nature of the dark magick spells threatened to become addictive. She could see that even now after only casting two of the spells once each. She would have to watch that. The last thing she needed was to become addicted to spellcasting. She had seen it happen to others and it never ended well, often with the addict having to give up magick all together.

But it wouldn’t stop her seeking out more power. She had had a taste, now, and it wasn’t near enough.

“I think we’ve reached the tomb.” Revna stood before a strange looking wall, examining it.

The wall had several circles that seemed engraved in the rock in a concentric pattern, but, when Öenthir made a closer inspection, she saw that it wasn’t an engraving, the were separate circles. Each of the circles, which got smaller the closer to the centre they came, had several symbols engraved around their edges. She could see pictograms of birds, snakes, sea creatures, wolves heads engraved on the circles and, in the centre of the circles, a golden, disembodied claw seemed attached into four holes.

“It’s a door.” She ran a hand over the symbols. “These are elements of a puzzle. The Gem of Unison won’t open this. We’ll have to use our minds, for once.”

“Well, that’s Revna buggered, then.” Tilly yelped as Revna punched her arm.

This was what she needed. Something complicated to take her mind off the itch in the back of her head. The one telling her that the Crystal Shards spell could knock a hole through the door. The one telling her that if she only read the Portal spellbook once more, she could use that to pass the door. That little voice telling her to use magick, any magick, and everything will be as it was should be.

She ignored that itch, that voice, but the worst thing was, she didn’t want to.

iv. Revna.

She didn’t know what she could do here apart from watch the stairs in case of further draugr attacks. The doorway with the circles was something for the thinkers on the team to work out and she felt next to useless at that kind of thing.

She looked over her shoulder at her three companions, discussing their options regarding the door. They had, for certain, come a long way from the disparate group they had been at the beginning of this journey.

Tilly had begun the task as a mere thief that had wandered into the wrong situation. Emotionally stunted, taking everything as a joke. She was still able to find humour in everything, but it had become clear that she did, indeed, have emotions, even if they still weren’t able to feel those emotions through the binding. And she had finally become Revna’s friend. She was still unlikely to show it, but they all knew it.

Itagaki had been the stoic warrior that was all about fulfilling her duty. A duty that had been thrust upon her, but one she had taken as a matter of honour. Her relationship with Tilly had had its ups-and-downs, but she had shown a vulnerable side that would have been unthinkable at the beginning. She was also a great warrior. Strong and a good leader. Revna felt honoured to fight at her side.

Öenthir had changed the most. Almost timid to begin with. Aloof and prone to look down her nose at anything that didn’t reach her impossible high standards, she had transformed into a good natured, kind woman. And powerful. Or, at least, becoming powerful. In years to come, she could very well give the greatest of Tamriel’s mages a run for their money.

She liked them all and she was glad to have found herself thrown into this quest with them. She couldn’t imagine not being around these people any more. They were the closest thing to family that she had had since she had lost her mothers. They had all, even Tilly, accepted her for who she was, not expecting her to be a Khajiit, but treating her like a person. She couldn’t even begin to say how much she appreciated that.

“Revna, is there anything in Nord culture that could give us an idea about these symbols?” Öenthir had been through her satchel and scanned several books, but she hadn’t found anything to relate to the door.

“Nothing that I can think of.” She tried to recall anything that could help. “Maybe Corhan would know something, but we’d have to find a way out to ask him.”

“Which brings us back to this Divines damned door.” Itagaki was rarely given to desperation, but the tone of her voice betrayed more than a little frustration.

“Well, there must be something!” The Bosmer was becoming short-tempered now, too. “Each of the circles move. There are the same symbols on each circle. We must have to align them in the right sequence to open the door, but there are too many combinations to just try every one! Is there anything on the walls? Anything at all.”

“And what about this golden claw? Do you think it’s really gold, or just painted.” Tilly had already begun to reach for the thing before anybody could stop her.

“Don’t!” Öenthir screeched, reaching out to grab Tilly, but she was too late, the claw was already in the dark elf’s hand.

Everyone stopped, silence falling in the small room as each of them waited to see if something terrible was about to happen. The seconds ticked by as they all looked around, seeing if some trap had activated, or if more draugr had become alerted. After a little while, and with nothing happening, they all breathed a sigh of relief. Öenthir snatched the golden claw from Tilly’s hand.

“That was stupid, even for you!” Chided, Tilly backed away from Öenthir, holding her hands up in contrition.

As she watched all this, Revna thought she caught something strange about the claw. She couldn’t be certain, but, by the flickering torch light, she thought she saw the shadowed bumps on the bottom of the object. Leaving her position at the stairs, she moved to Öenthir and lifted her hand holding the claw.

There were symbols carved into the underside.

“Perhaps it wasn’t such a stupid thing to do, after all.” Revna looked at Tilly who had turned her look of guilt to a look so smug it was likely the others would want to punch her. It made Revna smile.

Öenthir, however, had other things on her mind. She held up the claw towards the door, floating her Mage Light behind her shoulder to see better. Then she began to turn the outer circle until the symbol of an eagle was at the top. She turned the second circle until the sea creature lined up with the eagle and the final circle turned until the snake was in line.

Nothing happened.

The mage creased her forehead in frustration, her hand resting on her hip as she tapped her foot on the floor.

“Does the centre of the circles turn? Maybe you should put the claw back?” Öenthir’s head snapped around to Tilly and she aimed a dark scowl at the Dunmer. “It’s just an idea.”

Regardless of her anger at Tilly, Öenthir returned the claw to the holes in the centre. Still nothing happened. She took one more angry look at Tilly and then turned the claw.

There was a heavy click and the sound of rumbling. Dust fell from around the door, the walls of the small room and from the ceiling. And then the door began to move. Slow, at first, stone grinding upon stone, and then faster, the door rolled to the side.

Soon, the door completely disappeared into the wall, leaving a circular entrance into the chamber beyond. The chamber was dark and, before Öenthir could send her Mage Light through the doorway, flames erupted in braziers along both sides of the chamber beyond.

“It would seem we are, once again, expected.” Itagaki had dropped her torch and unsheathed her companion sword, arming both her hands.

Revna gripped her battle axe tight and stepped into the next room.


	24. Chapter 24

24

i. Öenthir.

The first thing she saw was the throne in the centre of the room. A large, stark, stone throne with no adornments. Sat upon the throne, she could see a draugr. This one was fully armoured, gripping a large, two-handed sword, by the hilt in one hand, its tip resting on the floor. The other hand held a long, thin, white staff. A globe of energy seemed to surround the draugr, a powerful magickal shield of some kind. The draugr was tall. Very tall. Even amongst Nords, this creature, in life, would have been head and shoulders taller than anyone else.

“Come in. We’ve been awaiting your arrival.” Loremaster Dukhat emerged from the other side of the throne, almost casual, walking before the seated draugr. “Before you attack me, let me just say that my colleague and I are fully prepared to defend ourselves. With deadly force, if we must, but we would rather this all end amicably.”

Another figure emerged. This one cloaked in shadow, they’re features blurred and unidentifiable. The second figure joined Dukhat and, together, they stood in front of the draugr, eyeing the four companions with disinterest.

“You want the last Gem of Unison. We, I, can’t let you have it.” For once she found herself standing in front of her companions, stepping forward to confront her old mentor. “You betrayed me and I’d rather die than let you have it.”

“Would you rather an innocent child die for your injured pride?” Dukhat raised an eyebrow and smiled in that kindly fashion she had once felt so comforted by. “Finish your task and then walk away. We won’t stop you. Unless, that is, you try to stop us.”

Öenthir looked back at her friends. None of them seemed to know what to do, instead looking towards her for inspiration. Dukhat was, after all, her old mentor. Revna and Itagaki were fine if something needed needed hitting. Tilly deferred to anybody else most of the time, anyway, but this was, for certain, not something she could deal with. The dark elf’s eyes were darting around the room.

“We need to talk about it.” If the consequences had not been so dire, she would find it comical that she was asking for time to talk in such a situation.

“By all means, old Æfiror isn’t going anywhere.” Dukhat reached out and tapped the draugr’s shoulder through the globe of energy and the blue eyes in the dead mage’s head flared in impotent anger. “But you know there is only one way this can go.”

“What do you think?” She turned her back on Dukhat and his shadowy colleague in a deliberate show of defiance. “How can we trust what he says? He’s already betrayed me. Lied to my face. I don’t think I can make an unbiased decision here.”

“I say we return the Gem and then kill them.” Revna had to lean down as she whispered, trying to hide what she was saying. “We can’t let anyone have all these Gems, they’re too powerful.”

“You have a point, sister, but if we die trying to stop them, they will have all the gems anyway.” The Redguard scowled at what she was about to say. “But the mage also has a point. We must save the child. All other matters mean nothing until that is done. We can alert the Mages Guild about Dukhat and the Gems once we are out of this place.”

“Well, one, I think I know where the exit is in this room. There are counterweights at the back wall. I’ve seen things like that before, for opening heavy doors.” Tilly nodded in the direction of the counterweights. “And, two, why didn’t Dukhat and his friend just take the Gems from Borgun? They could have broken the curse, if that’s what they wanted to do, and made off with the Gems and no-one would have been any the wiser.”

That gave Öenthir pause for thought. She wheeled around and stared at Dukhat as he and his colleague conversed between themselves. It was true. Dukhat was a powerful mage and, presumably, so was his comrade. They could have taken the Gems of Unison from them at any point before and after they left Riften. Why didn’t they? Why this game of cat and mouse?

“You can’t just take the Gems, can you?” She strode forward a few feet, stamping her staff on the ground with every step, using that to convey her anger. Dukhat glanced up as if she had asked a question in class.

“Very clever. I always knew you would amount to better things.” He clasped his hands before him and looked as if he were about to lecture her. “No, we can’t just take the Gems. Part of the curse meant that only those that did not wish to use the Gems could return them. Each time you replaced a Gem, you broke part of the curse and we, I, could then take them. You’ve been helping us all along. Why not just finish it, save a girl’s life and go home?”

Öenthir looked again at her friends, her eyes questioning them, begging for an answer. Revna stepped forward, taking her hand. The Khajiit looked into her eyes and smiled as she placed the final Gem of Unison in the palm of her hand. Revna trusted her to do the right thing. A quick look at the others showed echoing sentiments.

She looked down at the Gem in her palm. It wasn’t a particularly well cut gem. It wasn’t what anyone could call beautiful. It was dull, apart from the faint pulsing blue glow. She took one last look at her friends and turned towards Dukhat and his mysterious colleague.

“Go ahead. Æfiror cannot harm you. Not while my shield is in place. But you can place the Gem in his coronet.” Dukhat stepped away from the draugr Æfiror, giving her a clear path.

She walked as if she were in a dream. It was almost like she wasn’t controlling herself, her seeming to legs moving without any command from her. Reaching the throne, she looked into the burning blue eyes of Æfiror. She saw hatred there. Pure, undiluted hatred and the eyes glared at her in mute fury as she reached up, placing the Gem in a socket in his crown.

The feeling of relief rushed like a tidal wave through her. It was not her relief, or that of her friends. It was the relief of a father knowing his child would live. Jarl Borgun, back in Riften, knew immediately that the curse had finally broken, that his daughter, Ysrey, was safe. The relief rippled through the binding and Öenthir knew that she had done the right thing.

And she felt guilty.

ii. Revna.

There was a pregnant silence as Öenthir stepped away from the draugr that had once been the Nord mage Æfiror. Revna could feel the rage of the imprisoned creature, she was certain she could. Its baleful eyes poured out its fury, unable to move.

Dukhat moved to the draugr even as Öenthir rejoined the rest of the companions. Lifting the crown from Æfiror’s head, the old Breton mage removed the Gem if Unison and tossed aside the simple coronet as if it was a piece of garbage. Worthless to him now. He chuckled, turning to his veiled colleague, showing him the Gem.

“You have what you came for, mage. Time to honour your agreement.” Revna didn’t relax. If it was up to her, they would attack right now. Better to die trying to stop their insane plan than stand aside.

“And I, we, will. But first, we must free our final comrade.” Dukhat crooked a finger towards Öenthir. “And now you will see the other reason we allowed you to continue your quest. Öenthir, child, come here.”

The Bosmer looked confused. She had already done as asked. She had returned the Gem and broken the curse. What could they want her to do now? Revna stepped in front of her friend, refusing to let her move towards Dukhat.

“This is not what we agreed!” She didn’t need to look, she knew that Itagaki had joined her standing in front of their friend. “She put the Gem back. Leave her alone and let us leave!”

“Foolish girl!” It was the first sign that Dukhat had given that he was no longer the kindly old man that had mentored Öenthir. His hand flashed outwards and Revna found herself rooted to the spot. The same spell he had used in Onzngknd’s tomb. “You don’t have a choice here! We make the demands! Öenthir! Come here.”

From the corner of her eye, Revna saw the wood elf, hesitating, step forward, past her and the rooted Itagaki. Revna tried with all her might to move, to reach out and hold her friend back, but there was nothing she could do. She was utterly immobile.

“What do you want of me?” Öenthir seemed meek, almost brow-beaten.

“It will take three mages to free the Third Head of the Dragon. Here.” He gave Öenthir the Gem of Unison that she had minutes before placed in the draugr’s crown. “All you need do is focus magicka into the Gem and we will do the rest. That’s all. Trust me, child, everything will be over soon.”

Dukhat moved away from Öenthir, standing some ten feet from her. The other mage, the shadowed one, stood at a third point, making a triangle with Dukhat and Öenthir. Then the two mages began working their magick.

Öenthir looked back at Revna and her other two friends. There was nothing Revna could do. She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t move to help the Bosmer. Dukhat had sealed them all away, helpless. All except Öenthir, and all she could do was as she had told. She began focussing on the Gem in her hand.

Revna wanted to yell. To shout and tell her friend that this was their chance. That she would rather die than let Dukhat and his comrade win. If Öenthir refused to help them, they couldn’t free the third mage, whoever that was and it was obvious to Revna, now, that having three mages was important. At least if they stopped these two freeing their third member, they wouldn’t be able to use the Gems of Unison until they found another. Revna couldn’t believe Öenthir hadn’t worked this out herself.

But it was too late. The three Gems of Unison had now connected to each other with bright, sparking beams of light. A wind had erupted in the room, swirling around and around, lifting dust, catching at clothes. Öenthir seemed terrified, but there was also something else in her expression. A look of joy.

And then the air within the triangle of light ruptured. A tear in the fabric of reality. It forced the space within the triangle to crack and break and then flames began to appear, spinning in a lazy circle, forming a flaming vortex.

A hand emerged from the flames, reaching out, clutching, grasping. The hand formed a fist and was then joined by an attached wrist, then an arm, a shoulder. A leg emerged, finding purchase on this side of the vortex, bending to make itself stable. It was as if the figure was pulling against something on the other side. As if what held him on the other side of the flaming vortex would not let him go.

The figure fought against this invisible enemy until the entire body seemed to snap through the vortex, landing upon his knees, his hands planted upon the ground as the figure breathed in short gasping breaths.

Revna felt her arms were able to move. She looked over at Dukhat. He appeared exhausted from opening that fiery portal, that seemed clear. It seemed possible it was enough? Was it also possible that he had weakened enough to break his immobility spell?

She fought, once again, against her invisible bonds. She strained every one of her considerable muscles, fighting like she had never fought before. First her hand moved, flexing the grip on her axe. Then her leg inched forward. With one final, enormous effort, the spell broke and she ran forwards with a roar, lifting her axe in the air, ready to bring it down upon the head of Dukhat.

Only to be flung to the side by an invisible hand, held against the wall of the tomb, feet dangling high above the floor. The third mage had stood and, contemptuous, flicked a hand towards the charging Revna. It was his magick that now held her against the wall.

“Dukhat! You imbecile.” Even held against the wall, Revna was sure she recognised this third mage. It was an Altmer. Something told her she knew this mer. A memory from a dream? Or a memory of a memory? “If you can’t control your pets, I shall.”

Revna found she couldn’t breathe. The invisible hand that held her had begun to squeeze.

iii. Itagaki.

She recognised the man immediately. Her ability to remember things was uncanny at the best of times, but this face was particularly recognisable. She had seen it only recently, in the vision of Jarl Borgun’s early life.

“Tiirakan! Let the girl go!” Dukhat grabbed the arm of the Altmer mage, pulling him around to face him. “We agreed they would not be harmed.”

Tiirakan, the mage that had been part of Borgun’s group when the Gems of Unison were first rediscovered, glared at Dukhat. Itagaki wondered if he would attack his comrade and then, after seconds of silent rebuke between the two mages, opened his hand allowing Revna to fall to the ground, gasping for breath.

With the immobility spell already broken, Itagaki and Tilly raced to the Khajiit’s side, helping her to stand. Revna had murder in her eyes as she regained her breathing. Itagaki thought she would attempt another attack, but the Khajiit remained where she was, flexing her hands upon the shaft of her battle axe.

The Altmer mage ignored the three companions and turned towards Öenthir, the tiny Bosmer finding herself at the centre of the three mages, the Three Heads of the Dragon. Tiirakan held out his hand, saying nothing, but Öenthir appeared to know what he wanted. With only a slight hesitation, she placed the Gem she was holding into the Altmer’s palm.

“Now that I am free and the Gems of Unison are ours, we can begin our preparations.” He held the Gem up and examined it in the light of the braziers, turning it around and around.

“How are you still alive?” In a tight, cracking voice, Öenthir asked the question on all their minds. “In our vision, you were being overwhelmed. How did you survive that?”

“That is unimportant.” The Altmer stared down at Öenthir as if she were nothing. “Suffice to say I had to ... compromise. I was allowed to live, but lost my freedom in exchange. It was a joke, you see?”

Itagaki was paying little attention to the exchange. She had other things on her mind. First was the door that would lead out of the tomb. Trying to communicate without words, she caught Tilly’s attention, nodding towards the door and its counterweights. Tilly understood, slipping away, becoming one with the shadows.

The other thing that caught her eye was the still body of the draugr, Æfiror. At least, the almost still body. Ever since Dukhat, his comrade and Öenthir had opened the portal, it had become clear Dukhat’s power was waning. First Revna had broken the immobility spell holding them and now she could see the spell on the draugr was reaching its limit. The draugr was stirring.

“That was a daedric portal that brought you here. Who did you make a deal with? Molag Bal? Mehrunes Dagon?” Öenthir was being clever, holding the attention of Tiirakan and the others. She had seen Tilly move. “You think losing your freedom was the only thing you lost in your deal? And now what? You’re going to get your revenge on Jarl Borgun, is that it?”

“Revenge? On Borgun?” Tiirakan looked shocked and it appeared genuine. “I could never hurt that man. He was like a brother to me. Revenge? For what? Accidentally being thrown through the portal? Not coming back to see if I had, somehow, survived a horde of enemies? No. I hold no grudges against Borgun.”

“Then what? What are you going to do with the Gems?” Tiirakan had almost turned away but Öenthir persisted, glancing towards Itagaki and Revna.

“We will bring peace to Tamriel. Enough questions! Dukhat. Your Gem.” Tiirakan held out his hand to Dukhat.

“We agreed, Tiirakan, no one of us would hold all three Gems until we had learned how to unlock their full power.” Dukhat held his hands, and his Gem behind his back. Tiirakan frowned and turned to the mage veiled in shadow, holding out his hand once again.

“No.” The veiled mage hissed, his voice manipulated by magick.

“You both defy me?” Tiirakan clenched the hand he had held out into a fist, slow, scowling.

“One can only defy orders. Equals do not give orders to their equals.” Dukhat remained stoic, unmoved by Tiirakan’s clear anger.

The power play erupting between the three mages had made Itagaki almost forget about Tilly and the draugr Æfiror. She looked at them both. Tilly had reached the door, pulling on the counterweight, slow and steady, trying not to make noise as she opened their way out.

It was, however, Æfiror she should have kept her eye upon. He was moving now, shifting in his seat, his blue eyes flaring in their sockets. Itagaki clutched at Revna’s arm, urging her to be ready. She looked over to Öenthir, catching her eye as soon as possible. It was too late to try and communicate with stealth, she pointed towards the draugr and then to the now open door at the other end of the room. Öenthir nodded.

And then the draugr Æfiror raised its head, its jaw opening and a scream erupted from deep within the undead mage. A long, piercing scream that echoed and reverberated from the walls of the room, causing Tiirakan, Dukhat and the veiled mage to turn their heads towards the draugr.

At first, there was silence after the scream. The draugr Æfiror dropped its head back to a normal position, staring at the three mages.

And then a scream came from outside the room. A scream in reply. And then another, and another. Soon the room was echoing with the sounds of many replying screams from the depths of Deep Frost Barrows.

The draugr were coming.

iv. Tilly.

She’d managed to get the door open and now she wondered if she should go back to the others or only hope that they did the sensible thing and run for the door. She drew ‘The Sisters’ and began to make her way back.

Revna saw her beginning to move and held up her hand, shaking her head. The draugr Æfiror had stood up before the three mages, raising his staff. The sounds of the other draugr were getting closer, now, answering the call from the undead mage.

“Give me the Gems!” Tiirakan glowered at his comrades even as he cast a protective shield around himself. He seemed to be tiring, his shoulders slumping. Still the others refused and in a fit of anger, Tiirakan hit them with a spell, sending them staggering backwards. “Then I will simply take them from your corpses!”

The draugr Æfiror slammed his staff to the ground, sending lightning sparks tracing in arcs before him, hitting Tiirakan’s shield and snaking over its surface. This caught Tiirakan’s attention and he fired back at the draugr with a ball of flame that the draugr parried aside with ease.

And now the other draugr began appearing, racing through the doorway towards the first living being they saw. Itagaki. She blocked the first blow from an enormous greatsword, pushing the blade aside and slicing at the creature with her companion sword.

Revna swing her axe over Itagaki’s head, taking the draugr’s head and and shoulders from its body in one impressive blow. Then, grabbing Itagaki, she pushed her towards Tilly and the door. Another draugr had arrived by then, catching Revna on the shoulder with a glancing blow from an axe. The axe pinged off Revna’s armour and, still feeling pain from the passing hit, swung her axe in a desperate arc, backing away until she could find her footing to follow Itagaki.

Tilly could feel herself fighting between diving in and waiting. The internal struggle causing her gut to twist, but Itagaki had almost reached her. Until an arrow slammed into her leg, sending her sprawling to the floor. That decided it. Tilly launched herself forward, only managing to duck as a second arrow whipped past her face, clattering against the wall behind her.

“The counterweight!” Itagaki shouted. Tilly looked behind her. The errant arrow had caught the rope holding the counterweight, almost cutting it through, leaving frayed twists of rope dangling from the rest. It was about to break.

Tilly understood, if the counterweight fell, the door would close and none of them would get out of there alive. Helped by the fact that Revna was about to reach Itagaki, Tilly spun back to the door, grabbing the rope of the counterweight and holding it taut with all her strength.

The three mages were in the midst of a pitched battle, between Dukhat and his veiled comrade fighting Tiirakan and the draugr Æfiror. The veiled mage slammed his hands together sending Tiirakan and the draugr stumbling from some unseen force and Dukhat took the opportunity. He grabbed Öenthir’s hand and seemed to whisper something before pushing her towards the door.

Revna had dragged Itagaki from the floor and almost threw her through the door to the corridor beyond. Turning, she caught a sword in the ‘horns’ of her battle axe, twisting it to the side and then launched a punch into the draugr’s face knocking its jaw flying from its skull.

“Little elf! Get through the door!” The Khajiit swung her axe in a wide arc, holding the draugr at bay. And then moved in front of Öenthir as the mage ran, blocking any pursuit and protecting the Bosmer with her own body. “Both of you!”

One of the draugr thrust a spear towards Revna. She jumped backwards avoiding it, but another draugr struck her arm, slicing through the gap between her bracers and the armour on her upper arm. She howled in pain, dropping her battle axe. Injured, weaponless, Revna was unable to stop the blow dropping towards her head.

Until the blow stopped. A bright blue, shimmering wall of energy had appeared between the draugr and Revna. Öenthir stood behind Revna, her hand outstretched, her face sweating and strained. Several draugr were beyond the magickal wall, now, striking with swords and axes, arrows and hammers, but the wall held.

Tilly had made it beyond the door by now, checking to see if Itagaki was alright. Her head snapped around in horror as she heard a tell-tale snap of rope and the thud of the counterweight dropping to the floor. The door began to close and she jumped up, grabbing hold of the thick stone trying to arrest its inexorable movement towards closing.

Through the door, Tilly could see the three mages breaking away from the draugr. Each of them, almost simultaneous, summoned portals, disappearing to Oblivion knows where. And now all the attention was upon Revna and Öenthir and Tilly had no idea how long the Bosmer could keep up her shield wall.

“Revna! The door’s closing! I can’t hold it!” She felt her grip on the door slipping, the skin on her fingertips ripped by the rough stone.

And then Revna was there, pushing against the door, holding it open with those ridiculous, powerful muscles of hers.

“Get the mage. Drag her if you have to, but get her through this door.” She could see the pain from her injury etched over Revna’s face as Tilly reentered the room, grabbing Öenthir and dragging her back towards their escape.

How Öenthir managed to keep her shield wall up, despite obvious exhaustion on her face, and how Revna managed to hold open the door despite her injury, Tilly could never understand. Despite the Khajiit’s strength, however, the door was still closing.

Leaving Öenthir on the right side of the door to concentrate on her shield, Tilly made a frantic search of the corridor. She looked around, desperate, needing something to hold the door open for only a few seconds longer. Finding a funeral urn, she ran back, thrusting it in the gap between the door and the wall. It started cracking immediately.

“Come on, you big oaf, get through the door, quick.” She tried reaching in to grab her friend and pull her in, but Revna shrugged the hand away.

“I won’t fit through.” The Khajiit couldn’t be right. There had to be enough of a gap.

“Of course you can! Just take off your armour. Öenthir can hold her shield a bit longer.” She realised that she was pleading with the Khajiit. Revna shook her head and nodded towards Öenthir. She was on her knees, her whole body shaking with the effort of holding the draugr at bay. “Just get through the door. Please, just .. try!”

Revna stopped pushing against the door and funeral urn cracked again, loud. Stepping back, Revna untied the leather string that had held her sword, Jotnbann, to her back for so long. Wrapping the string around her hand, she grasped the old greatsword tight and smiled at Tilly.

“Be good. Little elf.” She turned her back on them, then, facing the draugr in the room as the funeral urn cracked once more, finally breaking and the door ground to a close. Öenthir collapsed to the floor, her face covered in sweat, tired and drawn.


	25. Chapter 25

25

i. Itagaki.

Tilly was frantic, scrabbling at the edge of the door. She had already ripped one of her fingernails off, the blood dripping to the floor. Öenthir had collapsed against a wall, her entire body shaking, her face pale and drawn, staring at the door. Tilly pulled out one of her many knives, thrusting it into the gap trying, desperate, to pry it open, only for the knife to snap in tow, the hilt jarred from the dark elf’s hand and clattering to the floor. She began pounding on the door, then.

“Tilly.” Itagaki ignored the pain from the arrow in her leg and reached out to the Dunmer. “Tilly! Stop!”

“I can’t leave her!” Tilly returned to trying to open the door with her ripped and torn fingers. “I can’t! I have to get back in there!”

“We are not going to leave her!” She finally caught the hem of Tilly’s nobleman’s coat and pulled her away from the door. Tilly turned on her with fire in her eyes. “We cannot get back in that way. We will go back in for her, I promise. We will find her, but we must remove this arrow from my leg first.”

She turned her leg, biting her lip and tried to get a look at her injury. The arrow had passed through her leather armour like it hadn’t been there, but she couldn’t see the wound itself.

“Just pull it out! Get up!” Tilly pulled her coat from Itagaki’s hand with a savagery that Itagaki didn’t expect. “You’re the stoical warrior, deal with it and let’s get her!”

“I cannot just pull it out. If it is a normal pile, fine. If it is barbed, it will only cause more damage.” She reached for Tilly’s hand. “Please, Tilly, you must cut it out or I will be of no use to Revna.”

Tilly looked at Itagaki and then the door, then spun back to Itagaki. Tilly didn’t spare any dignity, flipping Itagaki onto her front, pulling out her sharpest knife and started cutting away the armour around the arrow. She wasn’t gentle about it, only doing it as fast as she could.

Itagaki couldn’t see what Tilly was doing, but she felt her armour pulled aside and then the knife cutting into her skin. She managed to hold in the scream, grunting in pain as the knife was dug into her flesh. Soon, she felt the arrow turning before Tilly pulled it out. She let out a whimper then.

“Öenthir? Do you have the strength to staunch the bleeding?” She was sweating now. Tilly dropped the bloody arrow to the floor. It was, indeed, barbed. Öenthir looked at her with eyes she had trouble holding open.

“I’ll try.” The Bosmer crawled towards her, almost unable to do even that. Öenthir held her hand against Itagaki’s leg, closing her eyes and Itagaki felt a warm feeling flood the area of her injury. “That ... that’s the best I can do.”

Itagaki reached behind, placing her hand on the wound and then looked at her fingers. There was blood, but not as much as she would have expected. It would do, for now. She removed her long sword’s scabbard from her sash, replaced the blade and used the two together to force herself to her feet. It was difficult. It was painful, but she could suffer it.

Tilly helped Öenthir to her feet and, with the aid of the mage’s staff, began to move towards a nearby set of steps leading upward. Progress was slower than they hoped, especially Tilly, but it was progress. They soon found themselves at a junction with steps leading downwards in two other directions and another set leading upwards again. They climbed once more.

They soon found the door out of the Barrows and the bitter cold outside hit them as if they had walked into a solid wall. There, down a few steps, Corhan was waiting as he said he would be, sat beside a small fire, the horses tied nearby. He looked up as the three of them approached.

“You made it out then?” He stood and helped Itagaki to the fire.

“Not all of us.” She caught the furious look as Tilly’s head snapped towards her. Corhan looked back up the steps and his shoulders slumped.

“Revna?” He looked into Itagaki’s eyes. “Ysmir, no!”

“You people can stand around preparing her funeral, but I’m going back for her!” Tilly was already untying her horse to ride back to the main entrance to the Barrows. “She’s not dead. She’s not!”

Itagaki bowed her head. She felt tired and in pain, but Tilly was right. They had to go back. Weary, she fought against the pain and her exhaustion, untying her horse and managing to scramble into the saddle. Öenthir, more tired than any of them, also moved to her horse.

“Are you all mad?” Despite his words, Corhan helped Öenthir into her saddle. “If you go back in there, there’ll be four dead, not one.”

“You’ll shut up and help us, old man!” Tilly produced a throwing knife and pointed it at Corhan. “Or I’ll use your corpse to hold open the doors!”

The old hunter closed his mouth and glowered at Tilly, then he spat into the fire, turned and jumped into the saddle of Revna’s horse with a grace that belied his advanced age.

“Damned fools.” He shook his head as Tilly led the way back to the main entrance.

Itagaki didn’t want to say it, she didn’t want to think it, but she feared they would be far too late. There had been too many draugr. They had taken too long getting back to the surface. All she could expect was to be able to retrieve her friend’s body and give her a warrior’s funeral.

ii. Öenthir.

Her entire body ached. Casting the Crystal Shards spell, as incredible as that had felt, and then holding her protection spell as a wall, for so long, had exhausted her so much. She could hardly walk, couldn’t even think straight. Yet she kept moving. She had to.

Tilly led the way, impatient at the speed that she and Itagaki were moving, but there was nothing they could do. She had managed to slow the Redguard’s bleeding, but her healing spell had done nothing to heal the wounded muscle the arrow had hit. Walking for her must cause incredible pain, but she kept moving. She had to, as Öenthir did.

They had reentered the Barrow as soon as possible. Corhan had assured them that he would hold the door open, somehow, and they had rushed inside without any consideration of what they would meet after Æfiror had woken the dead. She didn’t even notice that the oppressive feeling they had felt throughout their first foray had lessened.

The Barrow was silent. She considered, as they say, too silent? Retracing their steps, passing the three draugr they had defeated earlier, down stairs and through the corridors and doors, they moved as fast as they could to find their friend. To find Revna.

Reaching the final chamber, they didn’t find a horde of draugr waiting for them, they found an empty room, save for the beaten, crushed and dismembered corpses that had once been moving past the point of death.

They stepped through the draugr on the floor, weapons at the ready. She couldn’t cast a spell, no matter how much she could try, but she still had her staff. The staff Revna had carved for her with such care and detail.

They rounded the great stone throne of Æfiror and saw what they had feared. What they had wished and prayed would not be the case. Revna. Slumped against the closed door. Bloodied. Several arrows had pierced her body. She had lost an ear. One arm hung limp at her side, the other still clutching the grip of her greatsword, Jotnbann. Her head hung against her chest. Unmoving.

Tilly reached her first, throwing herself to her knees, clutching her friends face and lifting it with a gentleness Öenthir had never seen from Tilly. As she held Revna’s head, the Khajiit’s eyes flickered and then, faltering, opened. She saw Tilly’s face and smiled through blood flecked lips.

“Little elf.” Revna’s voice was a croak, almost inaudible.

“Hush. It’s alright. We’ve got you.” Tilly smoothed the fur on Revna’s face and kissed her forehead. “We’ve got you.”

Öenthir knelt on the floor in front of her friend and examined the injuries. She knew that there was little she could do. Even at full strength, she wasn’t sure if she could heal enough of the wounds to make a difference. Itagaki knelt beside Revna, opposite Tilly, and clasped the Khajiit’s hand. Revna, halting, turned her head towards the Redguard.

“You should have seen it. It was a glorious battle. Glorious.” Revna coughed several times, spitting blood onto her armour. “Although ... I think I should have stayed with the Scorpion Black armour.”

Even now, she was still making jokes. Öenthir covered her mouth with her hand, trying to hold back her tears.

“Hold on, you big bloody oaf!” Tilly wiped the blood from Revna’s mouth. “Wen’s going to heal you. Everything will be alright.”

“I don’t think so. Not this time.” Revna turned her head back to Tilly. “It’s alright. It’s a good death. It could have been worse. I could have been eaten by a troll.”

“No. No! You will not give up! Tell her, Wen. Tell her you can heal her!” Öenthir couldn’t look Tilly in the eye, dipping her head. “No. You can’t die, you walking bloody carpet. You can’t ... you can’t leave me. You ... you’re my friend.”

Revna began coughing, more blood dripping from her mouth, her body jerking with each cough. She began sliding sideways before Itagaki caught her, holding her in her arms. The Khajiit looked up into Itagaki’s eyes and seemed to recognise her for the first time.

“Do you think they will accept me in Sovngarde?” Her voice was almost a whisper.

“They will accept you, sister, or you will make them!” Itagaki’s voice was soothing and calm, even as tears fell from her eyes. “You will shake the walls with your voice. With Jotnbann in hand you will tear down the doors. You will take their mead from their hands and they will say ‘Here is a warrior! Here is a true daughter of Skyrim!’”

Öenthir couldn’t stop herself. She began to sob, burying her face in her hands. She felt a hand catching hers, pulling it down. Itagaki held her hand, even as she held Revna in her other arm. She looked down and Öenthir followed her eyes. Revna was looking ahead, now, as if she could see something far away. The Khajiit smiled.

“Tilly.” As the air escaped her lungs for the final time, she had called to her friend. The one person she had attached to before any of the others. The person she had fought so hard to gain the friendship of. It was her final word.

Tilly stumbled on to her feet, stepping backwards several feet. Her blue/grey skin blanched. Her eyes were wide and her brow furrowed. She said nothing, only staring at Revna’s still form.

Öenthir’s heart felt like it was breaking. She had never had to deal with the death of someone close to her. She had been spared that. Now she felt that she was about to break. Not only by her own emotions, but by the grief rippling through the binding. She had begun to be able to tell who was feeling what, through the binding, and Itagaki’s grief was much like herself. Hard, like a wall, but hiding great empathy within.

But there was something new crashing through the binding. A tidal wave of grief that Öenthir couldn’t bare. The emotion, so powerful, so raw, so unfiltered, threatened to overwhelm her, to carry her along in a maelstrom of pain and she knew, finally, that Tilly could feel.

iii. Tilly.

They had all been discussing what to do with Revna’s body, as if it were only another problem to solve. She stared at them, sat around the campfire, casual, eating as they talked about whether the Khajiit should be taken back to Riften, or to Winterhold. Whether she should be embalmed in a Hall of the Dead and interred in a Barrow with all the other great warriors. Whether she should be placed an a pyre and burned.

It was like they had already moved on and that the body of their friend was not laid not ten feet away, wrapped in the brilliant white cloak she had kept with her ever since Hew’s Bane.

Sitting apart from the others, she pulled her cloak tighter as the night winds gusted around them. Her friend was dead. Revna, that ridiculous creature that considered herself a Nord was gone. How could they act like nothing had happened? Beneath the cloak, her hand clutched the necklace that Revna had made for her. The Reachmen’s love charm, carved, so painstaking, so beautiful, and given to her at a time when she still very much disliked the Khajiit.

And, she considered, that was why she felt so guilty. Revna had only ever been kind to her. Had only ever tried to be her friend. Despite the snide, nasty comments that Tilly had often made to her, Revna had remained steadfast, continued treating her with trust, kindness and friendship.

When Itagaki and Öenthir had (and, she had to admit, justified in doing so) ostracised her, it was Revna that had continued talking to her, even though she agreed with the other two. It wasn’t in her nature to turn someone away like that.

“We should take her home. To be with her mothers.” It was the first words she had said since Revna had died. In a faraway voice that the others strained to hear. “She would want to be with them.”

“To Ingrstad?” Corhan chewed on the wild boar meat he had caught and cooked. “It doesn’t exist anymore.”

“It’s where her mothers were entombed and the villagers cremated on a pyre, isn’t it?” Her ice cold glare caught him and held his eyes. “That’s where she would want to be.”

“She died a hero’s death. She should have the honour of a hero’s funeral.” Itagaki paused her sword maintenance.

“That’s not who she was. She didn’t want recognition. Did you even know her? At all?” Finding her voice again, she found herself angry at Itagaki. “Family. Family and friends. That was Revna! If we’d all returned to Riften, all conquering heroes, she would have been the one standing at the back, embarrassed at the attention. Saying that she’d hardly done a thing. Saying that it was you, Itagaki, that had killed the most monsters. Or that you, Öenthir, had shown bravery even as you almost exhausted yourself. Oblivion’s sake! She’d even push me forward and say if it wasn’t for me she’d be dead, or you’d be dead, or some other ridiculous thing to make me look better than I was!”

She continued glaring at them all as they lapsed into silence, the flames of the campfire flickering in the icy wind. Itagaki exchanged glances with Öenthir. Corhan continued eating. The silence ran, seeming to last forever before Itagaki put away her sword.

“How far to Ingrstad?” She asked Corhan.

“Set off in the morning, we’ll be there by mid-day.” The old hunter picked something from his mouth and flicked it into the flames of the campfire.

“Then our sister is going home.” Nodding at Tilly, Itagaki rose to her feet and walked to the body of Revna. She placed a hand on the white cloak, bowing her head, before returning to the campfire and climbing into her bed roll. “We should all rest. We have a funeral pyre to build tomorrow.”

Tilly didn’t rest. She couldn’t. Every time she tried closing her eyes, she felt an emptiness. The binding was only supposed to share strong emotions, but the strongest emotion she had felt from Revna had been happiness, and that had been almost constant. Of course, she had felt her underlying rage. That emotion she had kept buried, imprisoned inside her, rarely letting it loose. Her happiness was never constrained. She let that emotion show whenever she could and the binding, without the Khajiit’s happiness, was now so much colder.

Shortly before noon the next day, they reached ruin that had been Ingrstad. At its height, the village had counted around twenty buildings, a fishing jetty that stretched out into the Sea of Ghosts, and a modest mead hall.

None of it remained standing. Here and there, the remains of a house would point its broken and burned timbers skyward, reaching for the heavens. The wild had started to swallow the village. Snow had piled up against whatever remains of buildings there were. Trees and bushes had begun growing where once people had walked. The jetty, broken and collapsed.

In the centre of the village, there were still the signs of the great funeral pyre that Revna and Corhan had made. A communal farewell to family, friends and colleagues. Now windswept and barren.

It took them hours to gather enough wood and kindling to build the pyre for their friend and it was almost dark when they finally placed Revna’s body atop the construction. They had tidied her up as best they could, washing the blood from her fur and her armour, removing the arrows that had pierced her body.

They dressed her in the bright, white cloak, that had covered her on the journey to Ingrstad, and placed her precious sword, Jotnbann, in her hands and laid on her chest. At her feet, they placed the Scorpion Black armour and by her sides they placed each of her remaining weapons. Corhan even placed a skin of mead, he had been saving, beside her. In case you suffered a thirst on her way to Sovngarde.

As the sun began to set, they each lit a torch and stood at a corner of the pyre. No-one said anything. There was nothing that they could say. Their beloved friend was gone and it was for each of them to remember her in their own, silent, personal ways.

Tilly lit her corner first, stepping back. Itagaki followed, then Öenthir and finally Corhan. Corhan, despite his gruff, daedra-may-care attitude looked as sad as any of them. Of course he would, thought Tilly, this was the third member of the family he had had to say goodbye to.

The pyre soon became an inferno, sending flames and sparks high into the sky. Even the wind seemed to disappear, allowing the fire to burn at its own pace, engulfing the body of Revna.

Tilly felt alone. More alone than she had ever felt. And she felt something else. Her hand reached up to her face and came away wet. Tears. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried.


	26. Chapter 26

26

i. Itagaki.

The return journey to Riften was sombre and without incident. It was also almost silent. None of the three remaining companions had much to say, Tilly least of all. Itagaki understood the dark elf’s feelings, but cutting herself off from the others would not help her to accept the loss she felt.

Itagaki was no stranger to loss. Death had surrounded her most of her life. It was a warrior’s burden, if they survived long enough, to see friends, family, comrades die. After enough time, it became a numbing experience. The loss still felt, but easier to accept and move on.

It wasn’t the case this time. Losing Revna had hurt her far more than she had believed it could, yet she continued. She ate every day. She slept every night. She moved on even as she held the memories of her friend close to her heart. It was all that she could do. It was either that or allow herself to collapse into a morass of grief and guilt and she had had enough of guilt for a lifetime.

Riften had not changed in the interim. It was still bustling and loud. The Nords still drank and sang and fought with each other as they had always done. There was a tense air about the place as the Three Banners War had flared up once again, with soldiers on rotation from the front lines in Cyrodiil adding their voices to the usual tumult.

The Jarl was true to his word and they had received the handsome payment for saving his daughter’s life. He paid his respects to Revna’s memory, offering to give her the posthumous honorific title of Thane of the Rift while asking what they wanted to do with the Khajiit’s share of the reward.

“Do you have an orphanage in Riften?” It wasn’t surprising that Tilly would come up with the idea. Not anymore. She wasn’t the person she had been before all that had happened.

“We do. A fine one, if I may say so.” Borgun crooked a finger towards William of Anvil, calling him forward. “William will see to it the orphanage gets the money and that everyone knows who donated it.”

“The money will only be used for a Khajiit orphan.” Tilly addressed William. “No other. Even if it’s ten, twenty, thirty years until there is one. Only a Khajiit. If I find it has been used for anyone else, I will not be pleased.”

The dark elf stepped towards William, leaned in close and whispered something in his ear. Itagaki couldn’t hear what Tilly said, but, with a shocked look and a face that lost all its colour, William’s reaction showed that it was not something pleasant.

All that remained to do was to remove the binding. Itagaki considered whether it would be better to continue being bound to Tilly and Öenthir, as a constant reminder of the friend they had lost, if for no other reason, but Tilly immediately fell in when Dirgan called them forward. There was no blinding light, or strange feelings. It was anticlimactic, more than anything. Dirgan held his hand over theirs, concentrated and she felt the binding lift. She no longer felt connected to her friends.

Without any ceremony, Tilly turned and left the great hall of the longhouse. Itagaki and Öenthir bowed and were about to follow the dark elf.

“Just one more thing, for you, Öenthir RiverFall.” Dirgan handed the Öenthir a folded and sealed letter. “It’s your choice, girl.”

Itagaki wondered what was in the letter, but didn’t ask. If Öenthir wanted to share the contents, she would, but, for now, she placed the letter into her satchel.

They found Tilly outside the Jarl’s longhouse, preparing her horse. She was leaving. If they had spent much longer in the Jarl’s presence, she may have left without even saying goodbye. Itagaki wished that she could help the dark elf, to be the shoulder that she needed, but she doubted Tilly would take up such an offer. At least, not yet.

“Don’t leave yet.” Öenthir placed a gentle restraining hand on Tilly’s. “Stay. If only for tonight? Let’s have a drink for Revna. I’ll even drink mead. Stay. Please.”

Itagaki thought Tilly was going to ignore Öenthir. For a while she kept testing and tightening the straps on her horse’s saddle, not looking at the Bosmer. She did stop, though, and tilted her head to look at first Öenthir and then at Itagaki herself.

“Alright. Just the one, though. For Revna.” Tilly took the reins in her hand and waited.

It seemed only appropriate that they should end their time together in the place where they had first laid eyes on each other. The Shadehome Inn was almost exactly how they had left it. There were fewer broken tables and chairs, less blood on the floor and all the patrons seemed to be less interested in caving each others’ skulls in than drinking as much mead as they could.

They found a rare empty table and soon had four flagons of mead before them. Itagaki took the first toast.

“To Revna Astadottir. She was my sister. A great warrior. A great friend.” They all drank and Itagaki sat down as Öenthir stood, raising her flagon.

“Revna. She was sweet and kind and was always there for us. Every time.” Again they drank. Öenthir returned to her seat. Their eyes turned to Tilly. She didn’t stand.

“To that big, stupid, bloody fool oaf of a Khajiit.” Tilly seemed lost in thought before shaking her head and coughing. “Revna. She was my friend. Which is more than I can say for you two idiots.”

Itagaki and Öenthir exchanged glances, unsure if Tilly was serious or not and then the dark elf winked at them both, holding out her flagon for the others to touch with theirs, then tapping the lip of the fourth flagon.

One drink turned into another, turned into three, then four. Itagaki played her Shepherd’s Pipe that Revna had made for her. She had, in the quiet moments and with stealth, been practicing ever since she had received it all those weeks ago, but she thought she had started to get the hang of it, playing ‘Red Diamond’ to the noisy appreciation of all.

It was a good night and Revna would have loved every second of it.

ii. Tilly.

The morning light cascaded through the window falling upon the sleeping form of Itagaki, giving her a look of Aedric divinity. In that light, Tilly could see the varying shades in the Redguard’s black hair, falling soft across her face, covering the scar.

Tilly moved the strands aside, smoothing her lover’s hair and then trailed a finger over the scar. It did nothing to spoil Itagaki’s beauty, only highlighting the smoothness of the rest of her skin. When she slept, the Redguard tended to wear a tiny smile, something she would hide if she were awake, and Tilly found herself smiling too at the little chink in Itagaki’s armour.

Taking a last, lingering look, Tilly slipped from beneath the covers and collected her clothes that they had thrown upon the floor in their passionate haste. She was soon dressed and opening the door. Pausing as Itagaki shifted in her sleep, Tilly waited until her lover had settled before leaving the room.

“If you leave without saying goodbye, it’ll break her heart again.” Anyone would think Öenthir had been waiting outside the door, standing there in a crisp, shiny blue dress. Now they were once again in civilisation, the Bosmer had returned to the clothes she preferred.

“I think our hearts are already broken.” Tilly closed the door behind her, as silent as possible. “But I’m not leaving. Not just yet.”

“Then why are you sneaking out of the room?” The Bosmer had also returned to her haughty attitude, her hands clasped and resting against her stomach.

“She had her nightmare again, last night. She deserves to sleep while she can.” She remembered Itagaki’s soft cries, denials of betrayal, assertions of mercy. Tilly had held her tight until the nightmare had passed. “I’m going for breakfast. Joining me?”

Öenthir nodded and fell in beside Tilly. Tilly noticed the concerned look that the mage gave towards the room where Itagaki slept. In some ways, Öenthir was very like Revna. Her concern for others being one of them. The other was the rage that the Bosmer rarely allowed to surface. The difference between Revna and Öenthir was that Revna had a reason for that rage. A history that informed it. As far as Tilly could tell, Öenthir’s rage wasn’t informed by anything. It was a part of who the mage was.

The breakfast food was not anything special. Tilly had a bowl of porridge, sweetened with honey and slices of apple. Öenthir ordered a full breakfast, with a plate filled with fried food that almost made Tilly retch. Sausages and bacon, half a tomato, fried egg, a thick slice of the local blood pudding and a portion of beans in a rich tomato sauce. Tilly didn’t know where the little Bosmer put it, especially after the amounts of mead they had drunk the night before.

“Can you keep a secret?” Öenthir mopped up the remaining sauce with a slab of bread before wiping her mouth with delicate touches of a handkerchief. “You have to promise you won’t tell anybody. Not Itagaki. Not anybody.”

“How do i know I can keep the secret if I don’t know what it is?” She found her scowl met by Öenthir’s unflinching eyes, daring her to deny the request for secrecy. “Alright. I promise. That good enough?”

The wood elf made a conspiratorial sweep of the room with her eyes. Satisfied that no-one was listening or watching, she reached into her satchel and pulled out a folded piece of cloth and placed it on the table before Tilly. She clasped her hands together and rested them on the table, waiting for Tilly to unfold the cloth. She did so and immediately re-covered what she found.

“Mara’s lily-white knickers! Where did you get that?” Tilly copied Öenthir’s conspiratorial look and pushed the folded cloth back to her. She continued in a whisper. “How do you still have a Gem of Unison?”

“Dukhat gave it to me before all Oblivion let loose.” The mage picked up the folded cloth and slipped it back into her satchel. “He said he was sorry. He thought he was doing the right thing. He told me to keep it secret and safe.”

“He’s put a bloody target on your back. That’s what he’s done.” Tilly wished she had an ale, or a mead, or even wine. “If Tiirakan finds out you have that ... You have to hide. Hide or throw that thing in a volcano or the ocean. You can’t keep it!”

Tilly looked in Öenthir’s eyes and saw that the Bosmer was never going to throw it away. She’d seen that look before when Öenthir had first read the books Tilly had ‘found’ for her. It was lustful. A lust for the power the books could give her and now the power the Gem could give her.

“Don’t worry. Arrangements have been made. I’ll be safe.” Öenthir looked over Tilly’s shoulder and smiled. Tilly followed her eyes to see that Itagaki had joined them.

“Safe from who?” Itagaki slipped onto the bench beside Tilly and dipped a finger in the half-eaten bowl of porridge, sucking the oats from her finger with a wink at Tilly. Itagaki, winking!

“From me.” Tilly glanced at Öenthir, the mage watching her as she spoke. “Safe from having to hear me singing along to your beautiful music. She’s threatened to learn a silence spell for the next time I try.”

“That seems a little extreme.” Itagaki frowned at Öenthir in a playful fashion.

“Not with her singing.” Öenthir laughed and tried to grab the attention of the serving girl.

Tilly played with her porridge, stirring the congealing food, her mind elsewhere. With an un-cursed Gem of Unison in her hands, Öenthir had either become prey for all the dark mages throughout Tamriel, or she had received the potential to become one of the most powerful mages of the age.

She only hoped that Öenthir would take her advice. Something like that Gem was better destroyed or lost beyond the possibility of ever falling into the wrong hands again.

iii. Öenthir.

It was all she could do to hold back the tears. This was it. The final time that the three of them would be together. Itagaki and Tilly were holding the reins of their horses, waiting for Öenthir to join them. As she approached them, she couldn’t begin to believe that they were going.

She hugged Itagaki first and then Tilly, before clasping both their hands and squeezing. She didn’t want to let them go. Letting out a little, strained laugh, she took one last look at them both. They had all come through the quest, but they found themselves diminished by the loss of Revna.

“So, Windhelm, eh?” She clung to their hands.

“To start with.” Tilly didn’t even pull her hand away. Things were different between them now, this was certain. “From there, I don’t know where I’m going. Maybe the Gold Coast. See some old acquaintances.”

“I will be returning to Hammerfell.” Itagaki glanced at Tilly to see if there was a reaction. “I hear the Abbey of the Blades is being rebuilt. Perhaps I can find solace there. And you?”

“I’m waiting for a portal.” She didn’t want to say anything more than that. It was better that few people knew of her plans.

“You return to the Mages Guild?” Itagaki frowned in surprise at the destination. “Do you think you still have a place there?”

“The Mages Guild. Something like that, yes.” Öenthir released their hands and Tilly began climbing into her saddle. “I’m going to miss you both.”

“And I will miss you, Öenthir Riverfall. Perhaps we shall meet again. I certainly hope so.” In one graceful movement, the Redguard jumped into her saddle.

“You know you were the ‘little elf’ of the group, don’t you?” Tilly leaned over her saddle.

“I know. But it wouldn’t have been as funny if she’d called me it.” They exchanged grins before Tilly and Itagaki turned their horses and began to ride away.

She watched them until they turned the corner of a building and that was that. She sighed and brushed down the front of her dress before wiping away an errant tear.

With little time left before the portal opened for her, she walked with speed to the nearby carpenters workshop. She hoped that they had managed to do what she had requested. She found the carpenter sat outside his shop, eating a thick ham sandwich. Upon seeing her approach, he put the sandwich down, wiping his mouth and hands before ducking into the shop. She followed him inside.

“I have that order for you, milady. Reinforcing the butt was easy. That’ll last a good while.” He had already retrieved her staff and pointed at the metal affixed to the bottom. “As for the other thing, well, it almost seemed a shame to do anything to such a lovely but of carving, but I did it. I don’t know what you’ll be able to hide in there.”

Before handing her the staff, he showed her the top, where the carvings representing her spells were and, at the very too, he showed her where the screw plug was. He unscrewed it and showed her the little hole that the screw revealed.

“You’d be surprised what I can hide in there.” She gave him a couple of extra gold coins which the carpenter appreciated with a quick forelock salute.

Leaving the shop, she felt the familiar tingle of magicka in the air. The portal was about to open. In haste, she took the folded cloth from within her satchel and took the Gem of Unison from it, dropping the Gem within the hollow at the top of the staff before replacing the screw plug.

She almost didn’t make it in time. The portal opened before her with a flash, surprising several bystanders. Shimmering with a pearlescent light, the portal wavered and flared awaiting her. She paused for a second, looking around at Riften. She had grown fond of the place. It had a simple charm to it, but she was glad she was leaving. It would forever be a memory of the friend she had lost.

The abrupt change in temperature made her shiver as she stepped through the portal, her feet coming to rest on crunching snow. She found herself before a tall Nord woman, dressed in formal mage robes, standing before an arch that led to a ramp that, itself, led to a high sturdy bridge.

“Öenthir Riverfall?” The Nord mage asked, holding out her hand. Öenthir almost took the hand to shake it before realising that wasn’t what the woman wanted. She rummaged in her satchel and removed the folded piece of parchment Dirgan had given her.

“I have been sponsored by Dirgan Oakenheart of Riften.” She passed the parchment to the woman and waited as she read the contents, making several angry glances her way.

“And what do you seek to gain from the College of Winterhold?” The Nord mage handed back the parchment.

“Power.” There was no point in beating around the bush. The mages of the College would soon see past any falsehoods, if the ones at the Mages Guild were anything to go by. It was best to be honest.

“Good. We shall see if you can handle it.” The woman turned and began walking up the ramp, not even telling Öenthir to follow. Expecting that she was smart enough to know her sponsorship had received their approval.

Öenthir looked up towards the great edifice that was the College, towering, even looming over the city of Winterhold, its towers covered by cloud. If she was going to be able to control the Gem of Unison, this was the place to learn and, when she had learnt enough, she would find Tiirakan, Dukhat and the mysterious third Head of the Dragon. And kill them all.


End file.
